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JACK STRAW, 
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


I 




“Jack and Big O’Brien were the first to ride down to the 
lighthouse site on the aerial cable.” 


JACK STRAW, 
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


By 

IRVING CRUMP 

Author of “Jack Straw in Mexico,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

LESLIE CRUMP 



NEW YORK 

ROBERT M. McBRIDE & COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright, 1915, by 
Robert M. McBride & Co. 



Published October, 1915 


QGT 25 1915 

© Cl. A 4 1 4 2 3 4 

kof 


To 

A Tom-Boy 
PEGGY 






ACKNOWLEDGMENT 


In presenting this account of Jack Straw’s 
latest adventures it has been my good fortune 
to have the friendly advice of Dr. Raymond 
Haskell, Superintendent of the Third Light 
House District, and William H. Moon of the 
Lighthouse Service. I have also sought for 
assistance the pages of Commissioner George 
R. Putnam’s ‘‘Beacons of the Sea,” Talbot’s 
“Light Ships and Lighthouses” and the “Light- 
house Service Bulletin.” 

East Orange, 

September, 1915. 


J. I. C. 


> 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Jack Receives a Telegram .... i 

II “Hood Island — Ho!” 13 

III The Runaway 32 

IV Big O’Brien Gets His Biceps into 

Action 48 

V Men of Honor 64 

VI Winning the Rock 89 

VII Under Arrest 107 

VIII Lobster Pirates 127 

IX The Raid 145 

X The Chase 164 

XI Ray’s Find 188 

XII The Reef’s Toll ....... 214 

XIII The New Full-Back 232 



THE ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Jack and Big O’Brien were the first to ride down 
to the Lighthouse site on the aerial cable.” 

Frontispiece l '' 

FACING 

PAGE 

“The fight ended there” 60 v 

“Hit’s a close race, me ’arties, fer ’e’s cornin’ fast” 184 k 


“The finest flapjacks that ever were cooked” . .214 - 


DIAGRAM 

/ 


Sketch of Hood Island and Cobra Reef ... 66 



JACK STRAW, 
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 



JACK STRAW, 
LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


CHAPTER I 

JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM 

J ACK STRAW was walking slowly down 
the maple-lined avenue that led from the 
campus to Phillip’s Hall, the largest of the two 
dormitory buildings connected with Druery- 
ville Academy, and judging from his many 
near collisions with the aforesaid maples, not to 
mention hitching posts, stepping blocks and 
pedestrians, it was evident that he was not look- 
ing where he was going. Indeed his nose was 
buried in the latest and final edition of The 
Blue and White, the school’s weekly, and he 
was devouring the contents of the page headed 
“Track and Field” eagerly. The various in- 
dividual and team records for the year were set 


2 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


forth there in black-face type, and Jack, having 
been captain of the football team the previous 
Fall and no mean performer on the school’s 
track team during the Spring, was rather keen 
to learn just how many times his name was 
mentioned on that particular page. 

But before he had consumed a quarter of the 
reading matter, a real collision resulted. He 
was just about to turn the northwest corner 
of Phillip’s Hall when there was a scurry of 
feet, and before he could look up some one 
hurrying at top speed swept around the cor- 
ner. Instantly the air was full of arms and 
legs, the copy of The Blue and White ac- 
companied by several school books, went speed- 
ing down the graveled path and a moment later 
Jack found himself seated on the ground and 
feeling for the exact spot on the back of his 
head where the west wall of the dormitory 
building had hit him. Six feet away sat tiny 
Tommy Todd, also feeling for injured places 
and trying at the same time to regain his 
breath. 

“Jiminy — puff — puff — crickets, what’er you 
gettin’ into a fellow’s — puff — puff — way like 
that for, Jack?” demanded Tommy. 


JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM 


3 


“Well, how on earth — Say, why don’t you 
blow your horn when you are making a corner 
at top speed? I didn’t know you were com- 
ing,” returned Jack, scrutinizing the brick wall 
for dents. I think if I had hit just 

a little harder, Phillip’s Hall would be minus a 
few bricks.” 

“Huh, that’s nothing to the amount of gravel 
I’ll be carrying round with me for the rest of 
my life. Bet there is a peck of it jammed into 
my head,” returned Tommy, rubbing his head 
solicitously. 

“Well, why the hurry, anyway, Tommy?” 
asked Jack, as they stood up and began to brush 
themselves off. 

“Why, I was looking for you, Jack — I — ” 

“Found me quicker than you expected, didn’t 
you?” 

“Yes and no; that is, when I discovered you 
weren’t in your room I decided you might bob 
up most any place — and you did — ” 

“Well, what’s wanted of me in such a 
hurry?” demanded Jack. 

“What is wanted ? Oh, nothing, only there 
are about a half dozen fellows over in your 
room waiting for you. Did you forget that 


4 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


there was a special meeting of the ‘D’ Club 
called for this afternoon? The meeting is 
in your room at three o’clock, you know.” 

“No, I hadn’t forgotten only — say, it isn’t 
three o’clock yet, is it?” asked Jack, somewhat 
surprised. 

“Oh, isn’t it?” demanded Tommy, as he ex- 
hibited his watch. 

“Jingo-netties, it’s half-past three. I was 
so interested in The Blue and White that I for- 
got to hurry. Come on back, Tommy, and 
we’ll have the meeting started immediately,” 
said Jack, and seizing the diminutive catcher 
of the baseball team by the arm, he hurried 
him at top speed back toward the broad en- 
trance of Phillip’s Hall. 

Seven members of the “D” Club, the organ- 
ization composed of honor boys at Drueryville 
Academy, were occupying Jack’s room when 
he pushed open the door. 

“Well, good evenin’, sir ; did you call to tea?” 
demanded Harvey Maston sarcastically as Jack 
entered. 

“Why didn’t you keep us waiting until mid- 
night?” called Cory, as he put down the book 
he had been reading. 


JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM 


5 


“What’s the matter — fall asleep in the phys- 
ics lab?” demanded Buck Miles. 

“No, fellows, I plum forgot what time it — 
Hi, quit.” 

“O-o-o-o-o-h, forgot,” roared every boy, and 
a moment later Jack was busy ducking sofa pil- 
lows that were being hurled in his direction. 

“Well, now that you have subsided,” said 
Jack when the lads were out of ammunition, 
“the meeting will come to order.” He rapped 
on the top of the center table with his knuckles 
for lack of a gavel and assumed an air of 
dignity befitting the president of the school’s 
most important society. 

“As I understand it,” he said, “this is to be a 
special meeting for a general summing up of 
the athletic situation at Drueryville next year. 
Am I right?” 

“Right-o,” said Tommy Todd. 

“Well, gentlemen, we will proceed. First, 
the baseball situation claims our attention. 
Tommy, how are things going to shape up next 
year with your outfit?” 

“The outlook never was better,” said 
Tommy, cheerily. “Out of the nine regulars 
on this year’s team, only two will be graduated 


6 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


and they are both outfielders. I’ve men in the 
substitute squad that will take their places all 
right.” 

'Tine,” said Jack. "How about the track 
team, Harvey?” 

"Well, I’m not complaining,” said the cap- 
tain of the cinder athletes. "The outlook 
could be better. Graduation isn’t going to 
knock a hole into my list of runners, but I do 
wish that the freshmen who come in next Fall 
would include a couple of good sprinters. We 
need a good point winner for the dashes. 
.Also we need a shot putter. Hanson goes out 
this year, as you know. He’s been our only 
hope in the weight events for two years now. 
Wish I could find another 170-pound sixteen- 
year-old like him.” 

"Huh, if he knocks a hole into your pros- 
pects, think how he cripples me up,” said Jack, 
who had been reelected to captain the football 
team next year. "He’s been the only full-back 
Drueryville has had in years. I don’t know 
where I’m going to get a man like him. There 
isn’t a fellow in the scrub squad that can play 
in the full-back position and not stumble over 
his own feet. The freshmen will surely have 


JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM 7 

to show up mighty well in big boys to make me 
feel happy next year.” 

“Jiminy, that does put a kink into your 
eleven, doesn’t it?” exclaimed Tommy Todd. 

“ ‘A kink?’ Why, man, it ties a regular 
knot into our chances for the championship 
trophy, let me tell you. We’ll never be able 
to make it three in a row with Seaton without 
another Hanson in the line-up,” insisted Jack. 

“Aw, cheer up. Don’t be so down in the 
mouth about it. Perhaps we can find one for 
you this Summer. I’ll look for one among the 
stone cutters down Bethel way, when I take 
my job in the granite quarries this vacation,” 
said Cory, who was eager to have the meeting 
over with so that he could resume the book he 
had been reading. 

“Huh, you needn’t bother,” said Jack; “the 
full-back you’d pick out would come onto the 
field with a fiction book under his arm. Well, 
Dink, how’s the hockey team going to shape 
up?” 

“Oh, we’ll be there with an Ai team next 
year. Every man in the line-up. Pretty good, 
eh?” 

“Well, I’m in the same shape. The basket- 


8 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


ball team will be composed of four of this 
year’s regulars and Wefers, who played sub- 
stitute forward all this year. I’m not worry- 
ing,” said Cory gruffly, without even looking 
up from his book. 

“That leaves me the only captain in want of 
a good man, doesn’t it?” said Jack. “Well, 
you fellows take Cory’s suggestion and keep 
your eyes open during the Summer for a likely 
full-back for me, will you?” 

“You bet we will. I’m going to spend my 
Summer working in a hotel over in the Green 
Mountains. I may run into a good man there, 
you can’t tell,” said Chris Gibson. 

“That reminds me, Tommy,” said Harvey 
Maston. “Did you accept that job with the 
contractor? You said you were going to work 
all Summer on the new hydro-electric plant 
over in New York State.” 

“Yes, I go over there the first of July for two 
months. What are you going to do, Har- 
vey?” 

“Going to work for my father in his paper 
mill. There’s room for another fellow over 
there. How about you, Jack? Got a Sum- 
mer job yet?” 


JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM 


9 


“No,” confessed Jack, “I haven't I thought 
perhaps I might help out father in his marble 
quarries. But I guess he won't be ready to 
open 'em up for three or four months.” 

“Well, why not come over to Bordentown 
and work in the paper mills? We could have 
a corking time together and you would learn 
a lot about paper manufacturing. Of course 
if you can get a chance to go to Mexico again, 
or something as interesting as that, I wouldn’t 
advise you to accept my offer. A paper mill 
isn't as lively as a power plant besieged by 
rebels, but then a job is a job, you know.” 

“Well, perhaps I might accept your offer, 
Harvey. I'll think it over. You see, I — ” 

“Mis-ter John-n-n Monroe-e-e Strawbridge ! 
Strawbridge !” shouted some one down in the 
street. 

Jack's head bobbed out of the open window 
immediately. 

“Here. Right here,” he called. 

“Tele-gum fer Mis-ter Straw -bridge,” came 
the sing-song answer. 

“Telegram!” exclaimed Jack. Then he 
shouted, “All right, bring it up ! Third floor, 
Room Thirty-two.” 


10 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Huh, what’s this? Some more mystery?” 
demanded Tommy Todd as Jack left the win- 
dow. 

“You know as much about it as I do,” said 
Jack, somewhat disturbed. 

A moment later the lazy tread of the mes- 
senger boy could be heard on the creaking 
stairs. Then came a knock. 

“Come in,” shouted Jack and the door was 
pushed open to admit a blue clad messenger 
of diminutive proportions, whose hat was 
cocked at a rakish angle on his head. 

“Day letter. Sign on dis line here,” he said 
laconically, as he handed Jack the stub of a 
much-used pencil. 

Jack signed hastily and the youth scuffled out 
into the hall, forgetting entirely to close the 
door. But the captain of the football team did 
not notice this. With trembling fingers he 
was tearing the end ofif the yellow envelope, 
while the rest of the boys looked on in 
wonder. 

As Jack unfolded the telegraph blank his 
face took on an expression of great concern. 
But as he began to read, this expression 


JACK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM 


ii 


changed to a smile of delight. Finally after he 
had finished, he exclaimed, 

“Hi, fellows, listen to this. Talk about luck. 
Guess I won’t accept your offer for a job in 
the paper mill, Harvey. I have one that is al- 
most as good as a trip to Mexico. Here, I’ll 
read all about it.” 

Dear Jack: 

On our way up from Mexico last Summer I told 
you of certain work that I expected to do for the Light- 
house Bureau. Part of that work is now to be under- 
taken. I am to build a lighthouse on Cobra Reef, 
Hood Island, Maine. I know that you are interested 
in engineering and therefore I am holding open a job 
as clerk in the building crew. If you want the posi- 
tion wire me at once and report at Jefferson Hotel, 
Portland, Maine, on Tuesday afternoon. This will 
make a Summer vacation position in which you can 
earn a little money and learn a great deal about marine 
engineering. If you haven’t anything better to do be 
sure and come along. 

Yours truly, 

James Warner, 

Lighthouse Bureau, Washington, D. C. 

“If I haven’t anything better to do,” jeered 
Jack. “Huh, could there be anything better to 
do?” 


12 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Talk about downright good luck,” said 
Harvey Maston. 

“When do you start ? Next Tuesday. Eh! 
Three days from now.” 

“That’s going to be quick work. I’ll have to 
get Dr. Moorland to excuse me several days 
before school is officially closed for the Sum- 
mer, but I haven’t any more exams to keep 
me here. I guess I’ll go over and see him now. 
I may leave first thing to-morrow morning if 
Dr. Moorland will let me off. I would like to 
spend a day or two with my dad and talk the 
matter over with him.” 

And taking his hat, Jack left Phillip’s Hall 
for a hasty visit to the principal’s cottage in 
the maple grove across the campus. 


CHAPTER II 


“hood island — ho!” 

O F course Dr. Moorland was willing to ex- 
cuse Jack for the remaining week of 
school. Indeed, after he had looked up the 
lad’s term record and examination marks in 
his little card index, which he always kept on 
the top of his study desk, the old pedagogue 
even urged Jack to telegraph his acceptance 
to Mr. Warner immediately. He pointed out 
that a Summer spent among the lighthouse 
builders would be of great educational value, 
and besides it would afford an excellent op- 
portunity for the youth to earn some extra 
money. But first of all he suggested that Jack 
call his father on the long-distance telephone 
and secure permission to avail himself of the 
opportunity. 

Jack’s home was in Middlebury, about fifty 
miles from Drueryville, and the rates on tele- 
phone calls did not amount to a great deal. 
13 


i 4 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

He made the call on the principal’s telephone 
while the old man listened to as much of the 
conversation as he could gather. Jack’s father 
saw the offer in identically the same light as 
Dr. Moorland did and advised the boy to ac- 
cept the position immediately. He did say that 
he hoped Jack would contrive to spend a day or 
two at Middlebury before he left for Portland, 
however. 

When Jack repeated this to Dr. Moorland 
the principal generously excused him from any 
further work at Drueryville and suggested 
that he return to Phillip’s Hall immediately and 
pack his things, so that he would be ready to 
leave on the first train Sunday morning, thus 
giving the lad at least two days at home. 
Needless to say Jack was thoroughly pleased 
with this offer and he wrung the old gentle- 
man’s hand cordially as he said good-by. 

Ten o’clock next morning found our young 
friend swinging from the train as it rolled into 
Middlebury station. Townsend Strawbridge, 
his father, was there to greet him and drive 
him home in the new red automobile which he 
had acquired that Spring. Just at that par- 
ticular period Strawbridge senior was a very 


'HOOD ISLAND — HO !” 


15 


busy man. During the past Winter he had 
completed the organization of a stock company 
to operate the abandoned marble quarries on 
his property, and now he was engaged in the 
work preliminary to actual quarrying, which 
he assured Jack would begin some time in 
the Fall or the following Spring. However, 
he was not too busy to listen to all that Jack had 
to say, and you may be sure the lad from 
Drueryville Academy had a great deal to tell 
his dad. He reviewed everything, from the 
record of the baseball team to the bad outlook 
for the football team next year, and his father 
listened eagerly to every word. 

Then after all the news was exhausted the 
two began to plan for Jack’s stay with the light- 
house builders. Rough, serviceable clothes, 
warm sweaters, boots, oilskins and similar gar- 
ments were dug up and packed in an old 
steamer chest which his father unearthed in the 
garret of the Strawbridge homestead. Salt 
water fishing tackle was put in shape, a com- 
pass, and sailor’s clasp knife with a lanyard 
attached, were added, and the entire outfit was 
put in first-class shape for a two months’ stay 
on the Maine Coast Island. 


1 6 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


The preparations and the anticipation of the 
trip kept the lad keyed up to a high pitch of ex- 
citement. In this state he managed to accom- 
plish a remarkable number of things during the 
two short days at home, and when it finally 
came time to leave on Tuesday morning both 
he and his father were of the opinion that 
everything was “shipshape” for a very pleasant 
Summer of work and play. 

Jack lingered in the red automobile at the 
Middlebury station until the train on which he 
was to leave rolled in. Then a hasty good-by 
was said and the lad swung aboard the last 
Pullman car, to appear a few moments later 
on the observation platform in the rear. From 
this point of vantage he watched the man and 
the red car until a sharp bend in the road shut 
them from sight. 

And as he stood there waving farewell, a 
strange feeling of homesickness came over this 
young adventurer and he realized fully how 
much his old dad meant to him. In truth 
a lump gathered in his throat, for it seemed to 
him that his father looked pathetically lone- 
some as he sat gazing after the disappearing 
train. Was he selfish to deprive his father of 


'HOOD ISLAND— HO ! ! 


17 


his company during the Summer vacation? 
Was the trip going to be worth the sacrifice his 
parent was making for him? 

“Good old dad,” he murmured as he turned 
back into the car. “Good old dad. How 
lucky I am to have such a corking fine father. 
I’ll bet there is many a chap who wishes that 
he was as fortunate as I am.” 

With such thoughts Jack rummaged in his 
valise and brought forth a fountain pen and 
some paper and for the next half hour he was 
extremely occupied in writing an affection- 
ate letter to his paternal parent, which he 
mailed at the first stop the train made. 

The ride to Portland, though it occupied a 
greater part of the day, was through very pic- 
turesque country. The Green Mountains of 
Vermont and later notches in the picturesque 
White Mountains were traversed, until finally 
the train entered the rich, thickly wooded coun- 
try of western Maine. A few hours later Jack 
caught his first view of the coast, and he knew 
that he was entering upon the last stage of his 
long overland journey. 

It was nearly sundown when he reached his 
destination, and he was tired and hungry and 


18 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


his clothes were somewhat soiled from his day 
of travel when he jumped aboard the Portland 
trolley car on his way to the Jefferson House. 
He was not too tired, however, to make note of 
the fact that the city was unusually cozy in ap- 
pearance, nor did he neglect to take a good look 
at the quaint, old-fashioned houses and particu- 
larly the one which the conductor pointed out to 
him as the home of America's greatest poet, 
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 

James Warner, the same enthusiastic, sun- 
browned engineer whom Jack had met on 
board the Yucatan just a year before, greeted 
the lad from Drueryville Academy as he swung 
up the front steps of the Jefferson House. Mr. 
Warner was sitting in one of the long line of 
chairs in the hotel lobby when he caught a 
glimpse of Jack. 

“Well, Jack Straw, how are you, anyway? 
I'm mighty glad you decided to come along," 
he shouted, as he gripped the hand of the young 
traveler. 

“Huh, decided to come — why, there wasn't 
any alternative. I simply had to take advan- 
tage of such a piece of good luck. I think I'm 
the most fortunate boy in the world to get an 


'HOOD ISLAND— HO! 5 


19 


invitation to join your crew,” responded Jack, 
just as enthusiastic as Mr. Warner. 

“Tut, tut, my boy, don't be too sure of your 
luck. You'll have to work mighty hard. It 
won't be all play, let me tell you. I know, be- 
cause I've been through it a dozen times,” re- 
plied the engineer. 

But Jack could not be convinced that a Sum- 
mer on a Maine island with a lighthouse con- 
struction crew would not be about the most 
delightful two months he had ever spent in his 
life. 

Mr. Warner changed the conversation com- 
pletely the next instant. 

“You haven't had dinner yet, have you, Jack? 
I haven't. I have been waiting for you and 
I've been getting hungrier by the minute. I 
spent most of my day down at the lighthouse 
depot, seeing to the loading of the Blueflower 
(that's the lighthouse tender that will take us 
to Hood Island to-morrow), and the sea air 
has put a real edge on my appetite. Come on 
into the dining-room and help me devour a good 
big steak. You can arrange for your room 
later.” 

Traveling had certainly not dulled the keen- 


20 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


ness of Jack’s appetite either, and he assured 
Mr. Warner, as they entered the long dining- 
room, that he would be able to do justice to the 
steak in question. And he clearly demon- 
strated this fact during the ensuing hour. 

The evening was spent in Mr. Warner’s 
room, for the engineer had a great deal to do 
in the way of packing clothes, books, and bun- 
dles of blueprints. At nine o’clock he called 
for a bell boy and instructed that worthy to 
bring two glasses of iced lemonade and a dish 
of assorted crackers, to fortify themselves, as 
Mr. Warner humorously explained, against a 
night attack of hunger. 

Jack was thoroughly in accord with this 
strategic measure and fell to with a will. The 
luncheon disposed of, Mr. Warner suggested 
that they retire, since they would have to have 
breakfast at sunrise the following morning in 
order to report at the lighthouse depot at half- 
past six. 

Considering the importance of the day, it is 
not at all surprising that Jack did not oversleep 
next morning. Indeed, he was up and dressed 
and ready to go down to the dining-room when 
Mr. Warner knocked on his door to arouse 


HOOD ISLAND — HO !” 


21 


him. Breakfast was disposed of in short or- 
der, and the engineer and his young companion 
were on their way down to the waterfront be- 
fore the city was thoroughly awake. 

But the men at the district lighthouse 
depot were wide awake and working with a 
vigor when they arrived. They were loading 
tools and supplies on board the Blueflower , and 
from the pile of barrels and boxes on the long 
dock at which the tender was moored it was 
evident that it would be some little time before 
the engineer of the Hood Island expedition 
would be ready to start. 

The depot was an extremely interesting 
place to Jack. It was a reservation on the edge 
of Portland Plarbor, surrounded by a high 
brick wall. Part of this space was taken up by 
long low buildings occupied as repair shops, and 
the remainder was devoted to storeyard space. 
Long docks reached out from the shore front 
and at these a varied assortment of craft were 
moored, ranging from tiny motor boats to the 
businesslike looking Blueflower . There was a 
frowning gray torpedo boat destroyer that had 
put in there for some official reason or other, 
and two weather-beaten lightships that were 


22 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

undergoing repairs, not to mention a coal 
barge and several other unimportant vessels. 
On the docks and in the storeyard were huge 
iron buoys that looked quite enormous out of 
water. These were being painted and re- 
paired, and Mr. Warner explained that they 
would soon be loaded aboard a tender and 
taken out to the various bars and reefs in the 
harbor to be planted as permanent channel 
marks. 

The lightships were curious looking vessels. 
They were built of steel and painted red, with 
their name marked in tall white letters the en- 
tire length of the hull. 

Each was equipped with two steel masts at 
the top of which were the lanterns and the big 
wickerwork day marks. The mast of one of 
the boats had been taken out, and Mr. Warner 
explained that she would later be equipped 
with a new kind of mast like a miniature light- 
house, which would be built of steel and large 
enough to permit a man to climb up through its 
center and not expose himself to the fury of 
the elements. 

“Service on board the lightships, Jack,” said 
Mr. Warner as they walked through the yard, 


'HOOD ISLAND— HO ! ! 


23 


“is not as dreary as it might seem. These ves- 
sels are usually anchored out in the steamship 
lanes and passing vessels steer dead on for 
their light in order to keep into the deep chan- 
nel. Imagine how comfortable it must be on 
a foggy night to be aboard one of these vessels 
and know that every steamer coming that way 
is headed straight for you. Oh, yes, they are 
run down quite frequently, for you see that 
they are without motive power in most cases 
and cannot get away from danger. Then, too, 
they are not allowed to slip their cable or leave 
their anchorage under any circumstances, no 
matter what the danger may be. 

‘‘There have been several serious accidents 
since the United States established a lightship 
service back in 1820, by putting a light vessel 
at the entrance of Chesapeake Bay.” 

“How many light vessels are there in the 
Government Service?” queried Jack. 

“There are now about fifty on duty, not in- 
cluding the relief ships, some of which sail 
under their own power and travel from place 
to place, relieving vessels that are brought into 
the stations to be repaired and overhauled,” re- 
plied Mr. Warner. 


24 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

By this time the two had made a complete 
circuit of the yard and reached the dock at 
which the Blueilower was moored. A tall, 
good-looking man in uniform and smoking a 
pipe was coming down the gang-plank. Mr. 
Warner hurried ahead when he caught sight 
of him and greeted him heartily. 

“Jack,” he said, “this is Captain Wilmoth, 
who will take us to Hood Island, and, Captain, 
this is John Strawbridge, otherwise known as 
Jack Straw. He is a young adventurer whom 
I met on the way to Mexico last Summer. He 
is going to Hood Island with me as clerk. In- 
cidentally he hopes to learn something about 
the service and a great deal about lighthouse 
construction work, for he intends one day to be 
an engineer.” 

“Well, you couldn’t have found a more com- 
petent instructor, Jack,” said the captain, as 
he shook the lad’s hand. Then turning to Mr. 
Warner, he announced that the cargo had been 
loaded and everything was ready for a start. 
Mr. Warner made a last and hasty inspection 
of everything about the dock, saw that all per- 
sonal luggage had been carried aboard, and 
then all three climbed the steep gang-plank. A 


'HOOD ISLAND— HO ! ! 


25 


few moments later the men on the dock cast 
off, and with whistle shrieking the Blueilower 
backed out of her berth and turned her sharp 
prow toward the open sea. 

The boy was left to his own devices for the 
next few hours, for Mr. Warner had a mass 
of plans and blueprints to look over. He did 
not become lonesome, however, for he seized 
this opportunity to inspect the tender. From 
stem to stern he rambled, taking in every detail 
of the vessel. He found that she was a roomy 
and rather speedy craft built like an ocean-go- 
ing tug, only on a much larger scale. She was 
rigged to withstand all sorts of weather and 
accomplish all kinds of work, and her rugged 
lines appealed to the lad immediately. 

While he was on his tour of inspection he 
ran across Captain Wilmoth, coming out of the 
cabin. He was a very affable-looking man of 
middle age, with sharp blue eyes and stiff 
black hair liberally sprinkled with gray. In 
his natty blue uniform, he was Jack’s idea of 
a modern sea captain, and as he advanced 
across the deck the lad could not help admiring 
him. 

“Well, son,” said the officer genially, “hav- 


26 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


in g a good look at the old tub? Like her?” 

“You bet I do. She looks as if she might 
fight any kind of a storm.” 

“Right, my boy, she can,” said the captain as 
he filled his pipe from a leather tobacco pouch. 
“The old Blueiiower will take any kind of a 
sea without a shiver. All the lighthouse ten- 
ders are fine craft. They have to be mighty 
stanch for they are traveling the high seas all 
the year round, carrying provisions to light- 
ships and lighthouses, and seeing that every- 
thing is kept in order along Uncle Sam’s forty 
odd thousand miles of coast line.” 

“How many tenders does the Government 
have in service?” queried Jack. 

“I think there are about forty-six on both 
coasts. And you may be interested to know 
that they are all named after some kind of a 
flower, the same as battleships are named after 
States. There is plenty of work for them to 
do, too, for besides carrying the supplies, they 
take care of all the buoy planting. That’s 
tough work. In the Spring and Fall we have 
to gather up all the old buoys that have been 
in the water a long time and replace them 
with new ones that have been overhauled in 


f HOOD ISLAND— HO ! 5 


27 


the Portland yard. You see barnacles and 
other submarine growths make it necessary to 
take the buoys out every so often and scrape 
and paint them. Then of course they have to 
be returned to the water again. There are 
all kinds of buoys in the service and they all 
mark different types of danger points. There 
are whistling buoys, bell buoys, light buoys, 
unlighted buoys and spar buoys, and none of 
them is particularly easy to handle, I can as- 
sure you. Many a man has lost a leg or an 
arm while trying to put one of the blooming 
things over the side of a vessel.” 

“I’d like to watch the operation some time,” 
said Jack. 

“Well, perhaps you’ll have an opportunity 
to. But just now I’d forget about it and pay 
more attention to the cook’s bell. He’s been 
ding-a-linging all over the ship. Don’t you 
want something to eat ?” 

“Eat, why I’m starved,” said the lad. And 
together he and the captain went into the din- 
ing-room. 

The marine engineer had finished his work 
on the plans during the few hours before din- 
ner and was at liberty to spend the time on 


28 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


deck with Jack and the captain during the 
afternoon. The run to Hood Island took 
about eight hours in all, and the captain had 
estimated that they would not make their des- 
tination much before four o’clock. 

The vessel was well out to sea and running 
due north when Jack came on deck and the boy 
thrilled witn pleasure when he viewed the vast 
expanse of lonesome water. Astern was a 
long trail of black smoke across the sky left 
by a steamer that had disappeared below the 
horizon, while north and off the port bow was 
a distant sail almost directly in the path of the 
tender. Jack watched this sail curiously, for 
he was interested to know how soon the Blue- 
flower would overtake it. Gradually they 
drew up on it until he could make out the rig 
without difficulty. She appeared to be a very 
swift sailing yawl and Mr. Warner confirmed 
this when a few minutes later he brought his 
binoculars from the cabin and had a good look 
at her. 

“She’s a trim little yawl and from the pulpit- 
like affair on her bowsprit I take it she’s a 
swordfisherman. These waters are full of 


‘HOOD ISLAND— HO! 5 


29 


’em. I wish that they would locate a big fish, 
then you’d see some fun.” 

“From her lines,” he said after another in- 
spection, “I should say she was a mighty speedy 
craft. She has a big patch in her main sail. 
And her name is — F-i-s-h — H — it looks like 
Fish Hawk, but I can’t be positive. Hang it, 
I would like to — Say, fellows, get your 
glasses. They are after a swordfish ! There’s 
a man with a harpoon climbing out onto her 
bowsprit now! Hurry!” 

Jack and the captain hustled into the cabin 
and a moment later returned armed with bin- 
oculars. Through his, Jack got an excellent 
view of the little vessel. She had altered her 
course so that she was running at a right angle 
to the direction taken by the tender and the 
huge patch in the mainsail was quite visible. 
He could see the harpoon wielder climbing out 
on her bowsprit, too, and he watched intently 
as he saw him poise, spear aloft, ready to 
strike. 

For fully five minutes the man stood in this 
attitude. Then suddenly he lunged forward 
and hurled the shaft. Instantly there was a 


3 o JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


mighty splash just under the yawl's bow and 
the next moment the craft shot forward with a 
rush. 

The fight was on! This way and that the 
little ship zigzagged, jerked about like a nut 
shell by the powerful fish it was hitched to. 
It was a terrible struggle! Now and then 
the monster would come more than half out of 
the water in a frenzied effort to tear the har- 
poon loose! Jack could see its long tusk cut 
the waves and he shuddered when he thought 
of the damage the sword would do to a dory or 
any other small craft in its way. But these 
tremendous rushes soon began to tell on the 
captive and the struggle settled down to a 
steady pulling match, in which the fish towed 
the yawl at least three miles out of the tender’s 
course. At this point Mr. Warner and the 
rest put down their glasses. Jack, however, 
watched longer than the rest for he was ex- 
tremely interested. 

But before he saw the finish, his attention 
was diverted by a shout from the bow : 

“Hood Island — Ho!” came the cry of the 
lookout. 

There was something in the call that thrilled 


‘HOOD ISLAND— HO!” 


3i 


the lad and instantly he turned his glasses to- 
ward the north. In the dim distance he could 
make out a long wooded island, the seaward 
end of which was a high promontory. On this 
was perched the black and white tower of the 
old Hood Island light ; the structure which was 
soon to be replaced by a more modern building, 
providing Mr. Warner and his men were able 
to conquer the breakers that swept the head 
of Cobra Reef. 

“Well, Jack, there's the scene of our future 
triumphs," said Mr. Warner, clapping the boy 
on the shoulder. 

“Fine; it certainly does look interesting from 
here," said the lad enthusiastically. 

“In about an hour you'll have a chance to see 
the place at close range. Then perhaps you 
won't be so keen about it, my boy." 

“Oh, I'm sure I will," insisted the lad from 
Drueryville, as he took another look at the is- 
land through his glasses. 


CHAPTER III 


THE RUNAWAY 

I T was late afternoon when the Blueflower 
came abreast of the southern end of the 
long heavily wooded island which was to be 
Jack’s home for several months and on which 
the lighthouse crew was to remain until its 
work was done. Jack scanned the place in- 
tently through his glasses as the tender plowed 
its way northward. The island was exactly 
like a hundred others on the Maine coast, with 
ugly granite boulders strewing its shores, 
against which the breakers dashed madly, send- 
ing plumes of spray high into the air. Jack 
judged that it was at least three miles long. 

Ahead, and about a quarter of a mile off- 
shore, he could see where the combers piled 
upon a jagged line of rocks. This line trav- 
eled due north, parallel with the island for 
about two miles, until it ended in a peculiarly 
shaped mass of rocks that reared above the 
32 


THE RUNAWAY 


33 


waves, and looked exactly like the hood and 
head of the famous India snake. This was 
Cobra Reef. 

Midway in the line of rocks was an opening 
about one hundred yards across. When the 
Blaeflower reached this point she slowed down 
until she hardly more than drifted along. 
Then began some strange maneuvering, for 
Captain Wilmoth intended to run through this 
channel and get the tender inside so that she 
could land her cargo on the only strip of flat 
beach in sight. 

First the craft would go ahead a little, then 
a jangle of bells in the engine room would call 
for a quick reversal of the screw and she would 
back away from a hidden rock. For five min- 
utes this kept up. Then suddenly the signal 
bells called for full speed ahead and the ves- 
sel shot through into the comparatively calm 
water beyond the line of rocks, and plunged 
away northward again until it was opposite the 
little beach. Then with a rattle of chains the 
anchors let go and the trip to Hood Island was 
ended. 

The high promontory with its black and 
white lighthouse tower was less than a mile 


34 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


away. In the cleared space around the tower 
Jack could see several new sheds under con- 
struction and a huge pile of granite blocks 
stacked in an orderly array not far distant. 
This, Mr. Warner informed him, was the con- 
struction camp which the lighthouse crew was 
to occupy. All during the past two weeks ves- 
vels had been stopping at Hood Island, de- 
positing tools and machinery and huge blocks 
of granite which were to be used to build 
the new tower. The last of the crew of build- 
ers had arrived the day before and were al- 
ready hard at work constructing their quar- 
ters. 

These signs of activity stirred in Jack a de- 
sire to be ashore and up there on the heights 
where he could see all that was going on, but 
unfortunately there was work to be done 
aboard the vessel which Mr. Warner had to 
oversee, and since Jack was in a way his as- 
sistant, he had to remain with the engineer and 
do a share of the work. 

The Blueflower’s cargo consisted of survey- 
ing instruments and numerous small barrels 
and boxes of provisions, kegs of bolts, and 
various other necessities which had been left 


THE RUNAWAY 


35 


behind by the other vessels that had visited 
Hood Island during the week. These supplies 
Captain Wilmoth was eager to have landed 
while the daylight hours lasted, for he did not 
care to keep the tender inside the reef over- 
night. 

‘There would be trouble if a storm came up 
while we were inside here. It would be too 
dark to see our way out and with a high tide 
the breakers would come clean over the reef, 
and before we knew it we would be fast on 
those granite boulders over there,” explained 
the captain to Jack as they stood on the for- 
ward deck and watched the men load the sup- 
plies into the Blueflower’s launch. 

Again and again this little vessel made trips 
between the beach and the tender while Jack 
checked off the contents of each load on a long 
list that Mr. Warner had given him. The 
marine engineer went ashore on the first trip 
and talked with the foreman in charge of the 
camp, who had been summoned to the beach 
by the Bluellower's whistle, and after he had 
given instructions as to the care of the goods 
brought ashore he returned and superintended 
the unloading. 


36 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


The cargo that the tender carried was far 
larger than Jack had thought it to be, and the 
launch was kept busy for nearly two hours 
plying between the beach and the mother ves- 
sel. The men in charge of the unloading 
worked very hard to get everything ashore be- 
fore darkness set in, but in spite of their efforts 
the sun had gone down and twilight was fast 
coming on when the launch was finally hoisted 
upon its davits and the BlueHower was ready 
to maneuver toward the open sea again. 

In the half light of evening this was no easy 
task, and Jack and Mr. Warner watched with 
interest the careful methods adopted by Cap- 
tain Wilmoth. But even with all his caution 
the Blueflower’s steel sides scraped against the 
hidden granite of Cobra Reef on two occasions 
and it was only by the quickest kind of action 
that the vessel was saved from having her hull 
ripped open. 

“Say, but that was as tough a job as I ever 
want to undertake,” said the captain as he 
came down from the pilot house after the Blue- 
Hower had come to anchor outside the reef. 
“Did you hear her scrape? That granite 
would have ripped off a couple of our plates 


THE RUNAWAY 


37 


if we had gone ahead six inches further. 
I surely feel as if I had earned my supper to- 
night. And I’m going to get it right now. I 
trust you gentlemen are ready to eat.” 

“We are,” was the unanimous reply, and 
Jack and Mr. Warner accompanied the chief 
officer down to the saloon, for, you see, it had 
been decided that they stay aboard the tender 
overnight and run ashore in the launch next 
morning. 

Day had disappeared entirely and night had 
settled down by the time they finished sup- 
per and came on deck again. Stars were 
winking overhead and a great round yellow 
moon was just appearing above the eastern 
horizon. Over the island the white light from 
the tower on the promontory flashed periodi- 
cally, and just below and to the left burned 
a great bonfire, marking the location of the 
construction camp. The Blueilower swayed 
softly at its anchorage, and from the direc- 
tion of the shore came the deep-toned lullaby 
of the breakers, softened by distance to a sooth- 
ing night song. It was a wonderfully calm 
and clear evening, and it made a lasting im- 
pression on Jack. It seemed to him as if the 


38 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


world had not a trouble or a care on all its 
broad breast, and he too felt singularly con- 
tented. 

At half-past ten the watch fire on shore had 
gone out completely, telling plainly that the 
construction camp was asleep. This sug- 
gested retiring to the three individuals on the 
deck of the tender, which suggestion they were 
not long in following, for they were all tired, 
and besides they intended to be astir early the 
following morning. 

By three bells of the first dog watch all on 
board the Blueflower were awake, and by six 
o’clock Jack and Mr. Warner had breakfasted 
and were on deck. Then since all their effects 
had been moved ashore the night before, there 
remained nothing for Jack and the engineer to 
do but shake hands with Captain Wilmoth and 
their friends among the Blueflower’s crew and 
start in the launch for Hood Island. 

Though the little boat was a sturdy craft, 
the tide racing through the opening in the reef 
threw her off her course several times during 
the trip, and Jack gained a good idea of how 
treacherous the water of Hood Island was and 
he could also see, by glancing along the jagged 


THE RUNAWAY 


39 


edge of rocks, how the eddies formed and 
swirled about the Cobra Head. Indeed, 
though there was practically no sea running, 
the currents and cross-currents of the tide 
created waves about the base of the big rock 
that assumed the proportions of breakers, and 
dashed spray high in the air as they crashed 
against the immovable granite. 

Mr. Warner saw what Jack was looking at 
and remarked, “Cobra Head looks like a 
mighty ugly place, eh, lad? We are not going 
to have the easiest time in the world building 
a lighthouse out there. Just think of survey- 
ing the site for the tower ! Why, in a storm a 
man wouldn’t stand any more chance on the 
top of that rock than a straw. The currents 
are so nasty out there that the seals don’t even 
attempt to land. They come inside the reef 
and climb on shore to sun themselves.” 

“Seals? Do they have ’em here?” queried 
Jack, forgetting for a moment about the dan- 
gers of Cobra Head. 

“Yes, they have seals here. Not fur seals, 
however. They are hair seals and quite use- 
less. You’ll see any number of them later in 
the day. Just keep your eye out for a shiny 


4 o JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


black head in the water or listen for them to 
bark.” 

A few moments later the launch grated on 
the coarse sand of the tiny beach and the voy- 
age from Portland was finally ended. As the 
engineer and Jack stepped out of the boat 
a gang of men headed by a burly, good-natured 
Irishman, whom Jack learned later was Sha- 
mas, otherwise known as Big O’Brien, the 
foreman of the camp, came down toward the 
beach. 

“Mornin’, chief,” he said to Mr. Warner. 
“T’ camp’ll be ready for ye be t’ end o’ t’ fore- 
noon. In t’ meantime, these fellers are goin’ 
t’ move the rest o’ t’ dunnage up, which wuz 
left here last night count o’ darkness. Git 
busy, byes.” 

“Fine work, O’Brien. Now come on back 
with us and introduce us to our new home,” 
said the engineer. 

“Home, is it?” said O’Brien with a grin. 
“Sure an’ I’m a-thinkin’ it’s another name we’ll 
all be callin’ of it be t’ time our wor-r-k is fin- 
ished here.” 

“Tut — tut — don’t be such a pessimist,” said 
Jack’s companion good-naturedly. 


THE RUNAWAY 


4i 


The rap-rap-rap of many hammers and the 
noise of falling lumber was Jack’s first impres- 
sion of the Hood Island camp. This was 
gained even while he was at the foot of the 
promontory. 

When he finally arrived at the top he found 
the camp a veritable beehive for busyness. 
But before he could take in the details of the 
very interesting place, Mr. Warner called his 
attention to a prolonged whistle blast from the 
tender. The Blue-flower was saying good-by; 
and of course both of its recent passengers 
must needs signal back a farewell. 

Jack watched the vessel until it grew quite 
indistinct in the distance. Then he turned his 
attention to the construction camp again. One 
small building and one long one had been com- 
pleted, and the men were working on two other 
structures of the larger type. Mr. Warner 
explained that the tiny building was to be the 
general office in which he would have his desk, 
drawing-tables and the like. The completed 
long building was to be the bunk-house for the 
workmen, while the other two were mess-hall 
and work-shed in the making. 

“We will stay with Eli Whittaker, the light- 


42 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


house keeper, for the present at least/’ said the 
engineer. “The Government allows the light 
keepers to take men employed in the service as 
boarders. How will you like sleeping in a 
lighthouse?” 

“Great!” exclaimed Jack, but he reserved the 
details of that pleasure for future considera- 
tion while he made himself acquainted with the 
camp. 

Over near the edge of the promontory was 
a great pile of trimmed granite blocks, a huge 
stack of cement bags covered over with tarpau- 
lins, two donkey engines, a cement mixer, a 
steel tower, and myriads of tools, tool chests, 
etc. Jack contemplated all this with sparkling 
eyes. 

“Jiminy, but this is going to be an interest- 
ing place in a day or two,” exclaimed Jack. 
Then — “Say, Mr. Warner, why are those 
granite blocks all cut so peculiarly? They 
look like sections of a great big jig-saw puz- 
zle.” 

“Why, that is a detail of lighthouse building 
that is very interesting,” said Mr. Warner, 
“and I will tell you about it just as soon as I 
can. In the meantime you — Say, Jack, 


THE RUNAWAY 


43 


there’s our swordfisherman again. It’s the 
same yawl. See the patch in her sail and 
there’s her name — Fish Hawk .” 

Sure enough, there was the yawl Jack had 
watched so intently from the deck of the Blue - 
flower. The little vessel was running across 
the wind and had evidently just come out from 
behind the southern end of Hood Island. She 
was plowing along at fine speed about one hun- 
dred yards off the reef. 

Jack paused to admire her trim lines and he 
felt that with a coat of white paint and a new 
set of sails she would be a creditable yacht. 
The way she covered the mile and a quarter 
from the southern end of the jagged rocks to 
the opening through which the tender had 
sailed, was nothing less than remarkable. 

“Jhniny, but she’s a swift sailing vessel,” 
exclaimed Mr. Warner. “I wonder who — 
Look! Jack! Quick! Some one has jumped 
overboard ! Look, he’s swimming ashore ! 
Look at him plow through the water! By 
George, what strokes! He’s heading for the 
inlet ! He’ll be drowned ! The currents there 
will suck him under! He’ll get caught in the 
undertow ! The idiot !” 


44 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

Jack had seen it all. When the swordfish- 
erman reached the inlet, there was a scramble 
on deck and an instant later the figure of a boy 
appeared on the gunwale. A moment he 
paused there, balanced for a dive. Then with 
a pretty spring he shot out and down and en- 
tered the water without a splash. The next 
instant his head appeared in view, and he 
struck out with a powerful overhand stroke 
straight for the inlet, while the yawl went rac- 
ing on ahead. 

A great shout went up from the crew of the 
fisherman when they saw the boy in the water, 
and several men bawled orders and shifted 
sails. Then, with loud creaking and squeak- 
ing of blocks and tackle, the vessel started to 
come about. But her headway was enough 
to carry her several hundred feet past the in- 
let and by the time she had turned completely 
and headed back toward the swimmer, the lad 
in the water was almost in the opening between 
the rocks. 

The fishermen saw in a moment that they 
were baffled and being unfamiliar with the 
channel through the opening they dared not try 
to run through it with the yawl. Once again 


THE RUNAWAY 


45 


the sailing vessel turned; this time to stand 
away from the reef and out of the suction of 
the dangerous eddies. 

But the swimmer was undaunted. Indeed, 
he seemed to welcome the current as an as- 
sistant, for he redoubled his efforts, and with 
his strong strokes and the speed of the water 
he fairly shot along. 

Could he stay afloat in that terrible mill- 
race? Was it possible to battle the undertow? 
How soon would he be sucked under or caught 
in a cross-current and hurled violently against 
the jagged rocks of the reef? Jack and Mr. 
Warner stood there thoroughly awed at the 
swimmer's daring, while O’Brien and several 
other men in the camp watched in open- 
mouthed amazement. 

In the meantime, the yawl had come up into 
the wind and at a dead stop. Then an attempt 
was made to launch the big dory from the stern 
davits. It dropped to the water like a plummet 
and almost before it touched the surface three 
men leapt into it. But no sooner were they 
in than they started to scramble out again, for 
the little craft was sinking fast. Evidently 
the swimmer had removed the plug before he 


4 6 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


attempted his escape, thus cutting off one pos- 
sibility of being overtaken. 

But in spite of the dangers of the current, 
the lad in the water progressed famously. In 
no time he had battled his way safely through 
the opening. Then swimming madly he sped 
on toward the rock lined shore ! On he came ! 
The water fairly boiled about him and each 
powerful stroke brought him nearer to the is- 
land. 

“Bully!” shouted Mr. Warner excitedly, as 
he watched the boy’s progress. 

“Great ! Oh, if he’ll only keep it up a little 
longer. They are scurrying around looking 
for a dory plug on board the yawl. I hope he 
wins, though I don’t know what he’s running 
away from,” cried Jack eagerly. 

But the tremendous pace soon began to tell 
on the swimmer. His strokes grew less pow- 
erful and it was evident that he was getting 
arm weary. Once he stopped and looked back 
toward the yawl, and seeing no one in pursuit 
he turned on his side and swam with a still 
slower stroke. 

The last few yards of the race were made 
with evident effort, for the swimmer was com- 


THE RUNAWAY 


47 


pletely fagged. Indeed, when he finally pulled 
himself out of the water, he sank down behind 
a rock and rested for several minutes before 
attempting to climb between the boulders to- 
ward the beach. 

On reaching the sand he paused as if un- 
decided where to go. Then after a moment he 
selected the path that led up to the promontory, 
and slowly made his way toward the construc- 
tion camp. 

“Jiminy, but that was thrilling. Prettiest 
bit of swimming / ever saw!” exclaimed Mr. 
Warner when the suspense was over. 

“Pretty!” cried Jack. “By jiminy, it was 
zvonderful , and — say, but that fellow is no lit- 
tle boy either. Look at the size of him ! Oh, 
but what a full-back he would make! Why, 
he’s bigger than Jim Hanson ever thought of 
being. Guess I’ll go and meet him,” and Jack 
started down the path to greet the dripping 
figure, who came stumbling toward him. 


CHAPTER IV 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS HIS BICEPS INTO ACTION 

jimmy, old man, you certainly can 

-U swim,” exclaimed Jack as he reached the 
lad from the Fish Hawk . But the newcomer 
to Hood Island made no reply. Instead, he 
stood still and eyed Jack suspiciously. 

“Oh, that’s all right. You needn’t mistrust 
me. Here’s my hand on it. My name is John 
Strawbridge — Jack Straw for short, you 
know,” said the lad from Drueryville, extend- 
ing his hand toward the big fellow. 

“Mine’s Raymond Carroll. Call me Ray; it 
sounds better.” 

“Glad to meet you, Ray. What’s all the fuss 
about, anyway? What are you quitting the 
fisherman for? Had trouble with the mas- 
ter?” 

“Trouble? Huh, I never am out of trouble. 
Yes, I’ve had a row with the captain. He’s 

48 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 49 


my uncle and I guess a day hasn’t passed in the 
last ten years that we haven’t had some sort of 
a run in. But I’ve left him for good this time. 
I’d swim clean from here to the mainland be- 
fore I’d go back on board his old vessel. By 
hookey, I’ve done nothing but fight with him 
and his men ever since I started on this cruise. 
He said he’d knock the inventive bug out of me 
or crack my head trying. He’s thrashed me 
with rope ends and even mauled me with a 
belaying pin now and then when I got my dan- 
der up. Look here.” 

Ray threw back his wet shirt and exhibited 
a deep, ragged wound across his shoulder. 

“ And you swam ashore with that!” cried 
Jack incredulously. 

“Yep, but if it had been fifty feet further I 
guess I’d never have come out of the water 
alive. My arm feels as if it was paralyzed. 
I can’t raise it now.” 

“Huh, I don’t wonder. Come on up to camp 
and get it fixed up,” said Jack solicitously. 
But just at this point Mr. Warner and Big 
O’Brien joined them. Ray’s shirt was still 
open and both men saw the ugly cut. 

“By George, lad, that’s a bad slash you have 


50 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


there. What have you been doing for it?” 
said the marine engineer as he bent closer to 
examine the laceration. 

“Taking a salt water bath,” said the lad with 
a plucky smile. 

“Yes? Well, if you get it infected, you’ll 
not smile about it. Come up to the lighthouse 
and we’ll see if Eli Whittaker has anything in 
his government medicine chest that will help 
you. A good application of iodine is the thing 
to chase away the poison germs and heal it up. 
Come along, son.” 

And together they climbed the steep path to 
the camp. Here they were greeted by a group 
of workmen who were eager to hear Ray’s 
story, but Mr. Warner refused to allow the 
boy to satisfy their curiosity until they had 
reached the lighthouse and done some doctor- 
ing. 

Old Eli Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Is- 
land light for ten years past, was just getting 
downstairs from his bedroom on the top floor 
of the little dwelling attached to the hghthouse, 
when Mr. Warner and his party arrived. The 
old keeper had been able to get four hours’ 
sleep since five o’clock that morning, when he 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 51 


put the light out, and he figured that he had 
quite enough to last him until the following 
morning. 

“ ’Lo, Mister Warner. T’men told me you 
was coming. I calc-late ye came ashore this 
morning,” said Eli, shaking hands with the 
engineer. 

“Yes, Captain Whittaker/’ said Mr. War- 
ner. “We came up on the Blueflower. Say, 
Captain, how’s the 'doctor’? We have a pa- 
tient here. We wanted to see if you had any- 
thing in your medicine chest to take the pain 
out of a nasty flesh wound. Some iodine per- 
haps.” 

“Wall, I calc-late ye can have ’bout a pint o’ 
it. Hope ye ain’t goin’ t’ need moren that 
’cause that all’s left in t’ bottle. My two 
Manx cats 'Port’ and 'Sta’berd’ got fightin’ t’ 
other night an’ I used a heap o’ iodine t’ mend 
up their plegid hides,” said the lighthouse 
keeper, a smile playing about the corners of his 
mouth. 

“That wii be quite enough,” said Mr. War- 
ner. “Where are your two famous tailless 
cats ? I guess every man in the service knows 
about those cats.” 


5 2 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

“Oh, they’re around somewheres, drat ’em,” 
said Captain Eli. Then he added : 

“All right, come in an’ make yerselfs t’hum, 
gentlemen, while I consult t’ 'doc.’ ” 

They were ushered into the spick-and-span 
living apartment of the tiny four-room cottage 
adjoining the lighthouse tower, while Captain 
Whittaker bustled into the kitchen and re- 
turned with the portable medicine chest which 
the Service furnishes to all lighthouse keepers. 
This was the doctor referred to and Eli scruti- 
nized the various bottles carefully before he 
brought out one labeled “Poison.” 

“Here’s the consarn stuff. Now, let me see 
this here cut, young feller,” he said. Then 
when he had looked at the wound be began 
bathing and bandaging with experienced fin- 
gers. Of course Ray winced with pain when 
the iodine was applied, but he realized that it 
was the best thing for him. 

“There,” said the light keeper after he had 
finished, “I guess ye’ll pull through all right, 
providin’ no complications sets in, es Old Doc 
Chipman sez when he hed stitched up Buck 
Longyear after t’ red bull hed carried him clear 
’cross t’ pasture lot on t’ p’int o’ his horn. How 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 53 


did you come to get beat up so? Been get- 
tin’ fresh to t’ skipper?” 

“Yes, tell us your troubles, Ray,” said Jack, 
who was dreadfully curious to hear the boy’s 
tale. 

“Oh, it isn’t much of a story,” said Ray. 
“Just a case of my usual luck. I’ve been living 
with my Uncle Vance for the last ten years. 
My dad died when I was five and mother fol- 
lowed him a year after. I guess Uncle Vance 
wasn’t keen on having me on his hands from 
the first, leastwise he never showed that he 
liked the idea at all, so I always took it for 
granted that I was sort of in his way. 

“He’s a man who believes that every one 
including himself should work from dawn un- 
til darkness. He says it’s the only way to get 
along. Just slave like a horse at the work in 
front of you. That is all he has ever done. 
He don’t believe in progress and he won’t take 
any stock in a single new idea. That’s why he 
and I had most of our misunderstandings. I 
like to potter with machinery and build things. 
He called it all ‘durned nonsense’ and allowed 
he’d thrash it all out of me if it was the only 
thing he ever accomplished. 


54 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Everything I built he broke up for kindling 
wood or tossed overboard as useless. Then 
he’d give me a flogging for not being hard at 
work on something more useful. It made me 
mighty mad. One time I made a corking fine 
waterwheel in the trout stream back of our 
house in Ascog. I had the grindstone hitched 
to it, and every time I wanted to grind the 
ax or a knife or anything, all I had to do was 
to slip the belt on the pulley and away she 
went. 

“But when Uncle Vance saw that he was 
furious. He smashed the waterwheel and 
flogged me good. Then he set to work and 
gathered every knife and hatchet he could find 
in Ascog and made me sharpen ’em on an old 
foot stone just to teach me that laziness never 
profited any one. I was only eight years old, 
but I never forgot that. Always since then 
I’ve taken particular pains to hide everything 
I made. 

“All this Spring I was working on a model 
of a non-sinkable metal lifeboat. You see, I 
had an idea I might have it patented and per- 
haps make money enough out of it to go to 
high school. Uncle Vance says my schooling 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 55 


days are over and that any more learning would 
make me lazier than I am. And I just simply 
want to go to high school so that some day I 
can go to college and study engineering. Well, 
about the lifeboat. 

“When we started off after swordfish on this 
last cruise, I smuggled the model aboard the 
yawl, because I thought I’d get a chance to do 
some tinkering on it when Uncle Vance wasn’t 
looking. That was the worst thing I could 
have done. Last Monday he caught me work- 
ing on it and he was thundering mad. He just 
rushed at me and tore it out of my hands. 
Then he threw the thing overboard and got a 
rope end. And when he whaled me so I 
couldn’t stand it any longer and pulled away 
from him, he threw a belaying pin at me and 
hit me on the shoulder. Oh, he’s a fine uncle, 
you can bet. Can’t blame me for being bitter, 
can you?” 

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Mr. Warner. 

“That’s sort of tough treatment,” said Jack 
with sympathy. 

“I guess it was. Well, I decided after that 
I would quit Uncle Vance. Last night I took 
the plugs out of all the dories after they had 


56 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


been hoisted aboard and then made up my 
mind to skip to the first land we sighted. And 
here I am. I guess Uncle Vance will miss me 
a little at that. He’ll miss flogging me with a 
rope end. And he’ll miss me if Old Bart gets 
seasick, as he often does. Old Bart is the 
harpooner and next to him I was the best har- 
pooner of the — ” 

Ray stopped talking abruptly and looked 
with horror toward the door. There stood a 
big, burly, black-whiskered individual, who 
fitted exactly Jack’s idea of an old-time buc- 
caneer. He was hatless and his shirt was open 
at the throat and his great brawny arms were 
bared to the elbow. In his hand he gripped 
two knotted rope ends. For a moment he 
paused there, glowering at Ray. Then with a 
roar he lunged forward as if he intended to 
tear the boy in two. 

“Oh, it’s Uncle Vance!” screamed Ray, leap- 
ing back in fear. 

And as quickly as the lad jumped out of the 
path of the fisherman, into his path stepped 
Big O’Brien, the camp foreman. This rapid 
change of principals seemed to disconcert the 
intruder for a moment, for he stopped abruptly 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 57 

and faced the big Irishman. Both were silent 
and tense. Not a word did they exchange, but 
as they stood there glaring at each other it was 
evident that each was ready to crush the other 
with a blow. The fisherman’s face was as 
black as a thunder cloud. 

“Let me at t’ whelp,” he hissed. 

O’Brien swallowed hard. Then slowly 
raised his hand and pointed toward the door. 

“Git out! Git, or I’ll thrash ye! Ye don’t 
know how t’ take care o’ a nephy !” he roared. 

The fisherman did not move. Instead his 
fist drew back for a blow. But the foreman 
was too quick for him. Throwing self-control 
to the wind, the Irishman reached out and 
seized the big man around the waist. Then 
with a superhuman effort he lifted him from 
the floor and hurled him back through the 
doorway, following after him like a panther. 

Now it happened that just at this point one 
of the fisherman’s followers, who had come 
ashore with him, was entering the cottage. 
The captain, as he plunged headlong through 
the open, collided with this man and both fell 
into a heap at the very doorstep. But they 
were on their feet in an instant and O’Brien 


58 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

had hardly stepped clear of the room before 
his bearded adversary was on guard. 

O’Brien’s eyes narrowed in anger. He 
never paused or wavered a moment but 
plunged forward like an enraged bull. It was 
a vicious fight while it lasted. Strength and 
brawn against strength and brawn. Two 
masters fighting in almost fatal earnestness, 
one to avenge an insult, the other to prove his 
mastery. The grunts that accompanied each 
trip hammer blow told the bitterness of the 
encounter. 

There were no preliminaries. O’Brien 
rushed the bearded man and as he closed in 
his arm shot up from his hip like a shaft of 
darting lightning. Behind it was every ounce 
of strength in his great powerful body. The 
smack of flesh against flesh sounded and the 
fisherman staggered. An instant he swayed, 
then he lurched forward into a clinch before 
the Irishman could deliver a second blow. 
Desperately he clung on, swaying to the right 
and left with the foreman, who tried his hard- 
est to shake him off. 

Men came rushing from the camp. They 
formed a circle about the two. They were big 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 59 


burly men and every one of them loved a fight. 
Jack and Ray and the engineer and even mild- 
tempered old Eli Whittaker were among them, 
and as they watched the swaying figures be- 
fore them their natural love of combat cropped 
forth and they cheered lustily with the rest, 
cheered lustily at each clever move, no matter 
which one made it. 

The fisherman held on to the clinch until 
O’Brien was almost beside himself with rage. 
He held on for his life until his head cleared 
from the stinging hammer-like blow he had re- 
ceived on the jaw. Then suddenly with a cat- 
like movement he broke, dropping low and slip- 
ping away from two terrific blows aimed at his 
head. 

This agility called forth applause from the 
men in the circle, which developed into a burst 
of cheers when the black-bearded one stepped 
back again and drove right, left and right 
against O’Brien’s stomach and jumped away 
before the Irishman could get in anything bet- 
ter than a glancing punch on the head in re- 
turn. Once again he waded in. But this time 
he was not so fortunate. O’Brien’s great ham- 
like fist smashed squarely agairtst his nose, and 


60 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

before he could recover himself a left hook 
shot up and snapped his head back between his 
shoulders ! 

Once more he clinched and held, while 
O’Brien squirmed and wriggled to free himself 
for a final and finishing blow. 

But the fisherman’s wits cleared again. 
Then for a moment his head rested on the 
shoulder of his opponent, his mouth temptingly 
near the great corded neck of the foreman. 
An instant later the mariner’s mouth opened 
and his short tobacco-stained teeth sunk into 
O’Brien’s flesh. He bit and bit deeply and 
tiny streams of blood trickled out from be- 
tween his lips and stained the foreman’s 
shirt. 

With a howl of pain O’Brien hurled the man 
from him and rained crushing blows onto his 
face. The mariner was no match for the in- 
furiated foreman after that. He dodged this 
way and that to avoid the terrible punishment, 
only in the end to plunge headlong into a 
mighty swing that O’Brien meant to be the 
finishing blow! The fight ended there! The 
impact was terrible! The bearded one’s body 
snapped like a spring. He clutched blindly 



■m 


“The fight ended there!” 


r 



















































BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 61 

for something to support him ! Then he 
pitched forward into the grass! 

A moment the great body quivered, then 
slowly his knees drew upward almost to his 
chin, and he lay perfectly still ! 

O'Brien stood over him, one fist clenched, the 
other mopping the blood from his neck. 

“There, blame him, I guess that finishes his 
fightin’ fer t’day,” he said laconically. Then 
to the other swordfisherman who stood near by 
he said, “There’s yer captain. Lug him out o’ 
here es fast as ye kin. I don’t want t’ see his 
ugly face ’round here any more ner yours 
neither.” And still mopping the blood from 
the wound in his neck, he elbowed his way 
through the crowd and disregarding the shouts 
of applause made his way into Eli Whittaker’s 
cottage, where he sought the iodine bottle so 
recently used on Ray’s shoulder. 

For several minutes Ray’s Uncle Vance lay 
unconscious on the grass while the other fisher- 
man worked over him. Finally with the aid 
of a bucket of cold water, he was revived. 
Slowly his eyes opened and he looked about. 
Then without a word he struggled to his feet 
and assisted by his companion walked slowly 


62 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


down the steep path toward the beach where 
his dory lay hauled up above the water line. 
The crowd on the promontory watched him go ; 
in fact, they remained until they saw the small 
boat reach the yawl. Then O'Brien appeared 
on the scene again and sent them all back to 
their task of building houses. 

“Say, your uncle is some fighter, Ray. But 
he wasn't a match for O'Brien," said Jack, as 
the two boys watched the fishermen raise the 
mainsail of the yawl. 

“You bet he wasn't. That was some of his 
own medicine applied in a larger quantity. By 
hookey, I'll bet a copper he's raving mad at me. 
Mark my word, this isn't the last we hear from 
him," said Ray. 

“Well, it's the last we'll hear from him to- 
day, for his boat is starting off toward the 
south," said Jack. 

“That being the case," said Mr. Warner, 
“I'm going to look around and become familiar 
with my working staff. I want to start a sur- 
vey of Cobra Head to-morrow if I can. You 
boys can come along if you want to. In fact, I 
rather think I'll need you along to help me 
take stock of materials and things. 


BIG O’BRIEN GETS INTO ACTION 63 


“And, by the way there, son — ah — er — Ray, 
I mean, what are we going to do with you?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” said Ray, looking anx- 
iously at the engineer. 

“Well, ah — er — hum, how’d you like a job 
clerking here with Jack? Can’t pay you much, 
but we’ll give you your board at least. There 
will be enough work for the two of you to do, 
I guess. How about it ?” 

“That would be slick,” exclaimed Ray, all 
smiles now. 

“All right. You’re hired. Come along 
with me,” said Mr. Warner. 


CHAPTER V 


MEN OF HONOR 

A S soon as the trio began their tour of in- 
spection of the construction camp Jack’s 
curiosity about the big blocks of granite that 
looked like sections of a jig-saw puzzle was re- 
vived, and the first question he asked of Mr. 
Warner was : 

“What were you going to tell me about that 
granite ?” 

“Oh, yes,” said the engineer; “I haven’t said 
much about lighthouse building yet, have I? 
Well, we’ll begin at the proper place, which is 
the beginning, and I’ll outline to you and Ray 
just what we hope to do here on Cobra Reef. 
I don’t know whether you two have studied 
that big boulder out there that looks like a 
snake’s head, but if you have you’ve noticed 
that it is about fifty feet across in either direc- 
tion and that at low tide it stands eighteen or 
twenty feet out of water. Under those cir- 
64 


MEN OF HONOR 


65 


cumstances it is not going to be as difficult to 
build a lighthouse there as it would were the 
rock submerged all day. As a matter of fact, 
it is never totally under water, although some- 
times the seas break completely over it at high 
tide. 

“Last year when it was decided to supersede 
the Hood Island light with a more modern 
structure (you’ve noticed that the present 
tower is quite antiquated in appearance) en- 
gineers from the Bureau of Lighthouses came 
here and after a great deal of trouble landed on 
Cobra Head and ran a survey across the rock. 
Their figures were taken to Washington and 
studied, and the kind of a lighthouse necessary 
to crown the reef was decided upon. 

“The decision resulted in the adoption of the 
most common form of light which is known as 
a monolithic structure; a single shaft of stone. 
Lighthouses of this character are usually built 
of granite prepared as the granite you see over 
there on the cliff’s edge. There are other good 
lighthouse materials, however. Some struc- 
tures are built of reenforced concrete, some of 
steel, and some are nothing more or less than 
wooden buildings built on steel supports. 


66 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“But granite is considered superior material 
where the light is wave swept, as this one will 
be. In building a lighthouse of granite it is 
very necessary that when the pile is completed 
it shall be almost as solid as a single section of 
rock. To make this possible a European 
engineer, a long time ago, devised the plan of 
making each block of stone lock into the other 
by means of dove-tailing them. This is ac- 
complished by having the stonecutters in the 
quarry yards chip projections on the top and 
one side, and indentations on the bottom and 
remaining side of the granite building blocks, 
so that when the stone is put in place the two 
projections fit into two indentions on the side 
of the block next to it and the top of the one 
it rests upon, and the indentions on the side 
and top are ready to receive the projections of 
the next stone.” 

Here Mr. Warner tore a sheet from his 
engineering note-book and sitting on the edge 
of one of the big blocks he sketched out a cross 
section of the foundation of the proposed light- 
house as well as a sectional view of the struc- 
ture itself, thus giving the boys a clear idea of 
how the work would be done. 



Map of Hood Island and Cobra Reef, Sketched by Mr. Warner 
and Later Filled in by Jack Straw and Forwarded to His Father. 

A, Cobra Head. B, Reef. C, Cable-Way Between Island and Reef. 
D, Granite Blocks. E, Construction Camp. F, Captain Eli Whittaker’s 
Light. G, Beach. H, Anchorage for Whale-Boats. I, Old Mitchell’s 
House. J, Anchorage of the Betsy Ann. K, Path from Beach to Camp. 
L, Cliffs. M, Mitchell’s Flounder Fishing Grounds. N, Mitchell’s Lob- 
ster Traps. O, Opening in the Reef Through Which the Blue flower 
Entered. P, Cross-section of Lighthouse Foundation. Q, Cross-section 
of Lighthouse Tower, 



































































































N 






































’ 






















MEN OF HONOR 


67 


“The work of shaping the stones is all done 
at the quarries ; indeed the entire lighthouse is 
erected stone for stone in the quarry yard so 
that every piece fits perfectly. The blocks are 
then numbered and the structure is taken apart 
and shipped here. If you’ll notice each of 
those granite blocks is numbered according to 
position and section. In that way there is no 
delay in preparing materials while construction 
work is under way.” 

“My, but that’s interesting,” said Jack. “I 
did notice that each block was marked, but I 
had no idea that building a stone lighthouse 
could be made as simple as all that.” 

“Oh, it may sound simple,” said Mr. 
Warner, “but you just wait until we begin 
operations. Then it won’t seem so easy.” 

“What gets me,” said Ray, “is how you are 
going to get all of those big chunks of stone 
over to the rock. Why, some of ’em look as 
if they weighed five or six tons. Also, how on 
earth did you get them up on top of this cliff?” 

“I’ll answer both of those questions at once,” 
said Mr. Warner. “You are quite right, Ray; 
the blocks do weigh a great deal. In fact, some 
of the larger ones to be used in the base of the 


68 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


lighthouse weigh fully four tons. Under those 
circumstances it must look like a tremendous 
task to get them up to the top of the cliff and 
later take them over to the rock. You see, if 
Cobra Head had been larger and the water 
in the vicinity less treacherous, the lighters 
that brought the stone here from Portland 
would have landed it on the rock. Under the 
existing conditions, however, this could not be 
done and the next best thing was to land the 
material on Hood Island. To leave it at the 
beach, where we came ashore, would have been 
out of the question, for it would be necessary 
later on to reload it on lighters, section by sec- 
tion, and take it to the rock. Finally we de- 
cided that we would adopt the same methods 
as those used by the English engineers in 
building several famous lights; that is, we 
planned an aerial cableway between the top 
of the cliff and Cobra Head rock, thus provid- 
ing a short and safe means of conveying men, 
supplies and materials to the reef’s head. 
That steel tower yonder, which the men are re- 
rigging, and that donkey engine on the cliff’s 
edge, were installed a month or so ago, and 
every time a lighter with stone and supplies of 


MEN OF HONOR 


69 


a cumbersome nature came in, a temporary 
cableway was rigged from the tower to the 
mast on board the boat and the supplies 
brought ashore in that way. 

“Our trip to the rock to-morrow will be to 
carry a line out there with which to rig up a 
temporary breeches-buoy outfit such as coast- 
guards use in case of a wreck. In this men 
will be sent to the reef to drill holes and make 
an anchorage for the aerial cableway which 
will be built immediately. Then everything 
will be ready for the real construction work.” 

Mr. Warner paused again and sketched a 
map of the reef and the island showing how 
the cableway would be built between the island 
and the head of the reef. 

“What sort of a foundation will you have for 
the light, Mr. Warner?” asked Ray. 

“Oh, I was coming to that. Here’s how we 
will proceed with the work. To-morrow we 
will land on the rock, providing Neptune is 
willing. Then while some men are drilling 
holes in which to put the ringbolts to hold the 
reef end of the cableway, other men will start 
chipping away the humps and bumps on Cobra 
Head. That lump that looks like a head itself 


70 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


will have to be cut away and the top of the 
hood will be made as flat as possible. It will 
not be necessary to dig very deep into the rock 
because the constant erosion of the sea for 
centuries past has eaten away all the soft parts 
of the rock, if there ever were any, and all that 
you see above water now is as firm and as hard 
as flint. As I said before, we’ll pare it down 
somewhat in spots and we may be forced to use 
a little dynamite in the work, though I’ll avoid 
that if possible for explosives may shatter the 
entire boulder if they are not used carefully. 
Then where would we be ?” 

“I think if that should happen you would 
have a mighty hard job on your hands,” said 
Jack. 

“You’re right, we would,” assured Mr. 
Warner. Then he continued, “When the chip- 
ping is all done and the cableway is in working 
order, things will proceed as smoothly as the 
elements will allow. The first blocks will be 
sent down and put in place. They will be im- 
bedded in cement which will take hold of both 
the rock and the building block. After the 
cement is set a hole will be drilled through the 
granite block and deep into the boulder. A 


MEN OF HONOR 


7 1 


heavy steel bolt will be sunk through this hole 
and anchored to the reef with hydraulic cement 
which will be forced home under pressure. 
When this cement has set the first tier of stones 
will be as solid as man can make it. 

“When the cableway is working we’ll start 
to build a miniature construction camp out 
there on the rock. There will be derricks, for 
one thing, for no man, or group of men, could 
handle one of those tremendous blocks without 
some mechanical assistance. It is probable 
that half a dozen derricks will be built during 
the course of construction work, for storms 
will sweep them away in a jiffy once the waves 
get piling up on the Head. We’ll be lucky if 
we don’t lose some of our workmen too. 
There’s many a lighthouse along the coast the 
building of which has cost more than one 
human life. This sort of work, my boys, is not 
the easiest in the — ” 

“Ow-w-w-w-ye-e-e-e-o ! Ow-w-w-w-ye-e- 
e-o !” 

“Good gracious, what’s that,” exclaimed 
Jack, jumping as if he had been shot. 

Ray smiled and turned around slowly. 
“That’s a conch. Some one’s calling.” 


72 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

“Yes, that’s Eli Whittaker’s dinner horn,” 
said Mr. Warner, smiling at Jack’s surprise. 

“Call to dinner, is it?” said Jack, smiling 
too; “sounded to me as if a whole drove of 
elephants was charging down upon us. Well, 
if it means something to eat I’ll welcome it as 
terrible as it sounds,” said the lad from Ver- 
mont. 

“So’ll I,” assured Ray, “though I don’t know 
how I’m going to handle a knife and fork with 
my arm out of commission.” 

“Pooh, don’t mind that as long as your 
mouth isn’t in a sling,” said Jack. “I’ll cut up 
your food and you can use the fork with your 
good paw, can’t you ?” 

“Just watch me,” said Ray. 

The sound of the conch was evidently the 
camp’s signal for dinner too, for as Jack and 
Ray and Mr. Warner walked back toward the 
lighthouse they passed scores of men on their 
way to the long, half-finished mess-hall where 
Bongo,' the dusky cook, was piling a board 
table full of good wholesome victuals. The 
men of the crew were of all nationalities, but 
they were men every one of them. Jack 
noted the fact that every eye was clear and 


MEN OF HONOR 


73 


each moved with a stride that bespoke strength 
and agility. They were big chested and 
brawny and Jack did not know when or where 
he had ever seen finer specimens of manhood, 
a fact which he remarked to Ray and Mr. War- 
ner. 

Four seated about the tiny dining-room of 
Eli Whittaker’s spick-and-span cottage made 
the place seem crowded indeed. Eli was his 
own cook and housekeeper and he was a past- 
master at both, according to Jack’s way of 
thinking. That he was an excellent house- 
keeper was evident from a glance about the 
neat cottage and the neater light tower. And 
as for his cooking ability, well, great dishes full 
of steamed clams, three fat lobsters split in 
half, and generous portions of corned beef, 
boiled potatoes and canned corn, all provided 
eloquent testimony to this fact. The quartet 
fell to with a will, and Ray, despite his handi- 
cap, managed to consume as much as the rest. 

After dinner the two lads helped Captain 
Eli wash dishes, though Ray was of little as- 
sistance because of his injured arm. And 
while they were thus occupied Mr. Warner 
came in from the camp with word that O’Brien 


74 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


had assured him that all work on the buildings 
would be completed by evening, and that the 
next morning everything would be ready for 
their first attempt to land on Cobra Head. 

A little later the engineer took Jack and Ray 
over to a two-roomed shanty in which he in- 
tended to make his office and drafting-room. 
Here they were shown to the rear apartment 
where there were several high desks and a 
number of books. This portion of the build- 
ing, Mr. Warner informed them, was to be 
their domain, Jack being given one desk and 
Ray another. 

For half an hour Mr. Warner explained in 
detail the clerical work that the boys would 
have to attend to, and before he left he assured 
them that their daily routine would not keep 
them occupied more than a few hours each 
morning and that the rest of the time they 
would be at liberty to spend with the engineers, 
or the crew, or do whatever else they saw fit to 
occupy their time. 

Their first duties, however, were enough to 
keep the lads occupied for some time and Eli 
Whittaker’s conch was sounding its evening 
warning almost before they realized it. 


MEN OF HONOR 


75 


“Jiminy,” said Jack, looking up from his 
books, “it’s time to eat again. I’m hungrier 
than a bear too. My, what an appetite I’ve de- 
veloped since I left Vermont.” 

“1 get sort of hungry myself now that I 
don’t have to worry about Uncle Vance and his 
disagreeable temper. If I only had the life- 
boat model he tossed overboard I’d be as happy 
as any one could be. I’m going to get at a 
new model as soon as my arm gets better, by 
jiminy, and you can bet no one’s going to get 
a chance to heave it overboard again. The 
thing that is worrying me though is whether 
I’ll be able to remember just how I had the first 
one built,” said Ray, slipping down from his 
high stool and joining Jack. 

“Tut, tut,” said Jack, “don’t worry about it 
now. Let’s go and get something to eat.” 

When the two lads came out of the office 
door they noticed immediately that although 
it still lacked an hour or more of dusk Eli Whit- 
taker had already lighted the lamp in the tower. 
Jack and Ray watched it shoot forth its single 
ray of white light periodically as the big lens 
revolved. 

“I’m going up in the tower after supper and 


76 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

learn something about lighthouse lamps, that 
is if Captain Whittaker will let me/’ said Jack, 
as they walked up the path to the top of the 
promontory. 

“I’d like to have a peek inside of the lamp 
too,” said Ray. “Let’s ask Captain Eli if he 
won’t tell us something about the lighthouse 
service too.” 

“Good idea,” said Jack as they entered the 
cottage. 

The boys were not long in bringing up the 
subject of conversation, for almost as soon as 
the four of them were seated about the table 
once more Jack turned to the light keeper and 
spoke. 

“Captain,” said he, “Ray and I are mighty 
interested in the lighthouse service and we’d 
like to know a lot about it. Also we’d like to 
know something about the way the lighthouses 
are lighted too.” 

“Well, as fer t’ way lights is lit I can take 
you up in the tower later and ye can have a 
look at my light and I calc’ late I kin tell ye all 
ab’ut haow ’tis run. But that hain’t ha’af 
what’s t’ be told about lights. Mr. Warner 
here knows more about lights than I do an’ like 


MEN OF HONOR 


77 


es not he kin reel off them there jawbrakers like 
'equiangular prisms/ 'dioptics/ ‘hyperradients/ 
an’ what-not ’thout even stoppin’ t’ think on 
'em. As fer me I cain’t never master ’em 
an’ ’tain’t no use o’ my tryin’. Time an’ agin 
I’ve clawed through big books on lights an’ 
such like, but I alius finished ’m ignoranter 
than when I begun ’un.” 

"Pshaw/’ said Jack, "we don’t want any of 
those big words either. What we want is plain 
English about how lights are regulated.” 

"Wall,” said Captain Eli, "I calc’late Mr. 
Warner could give ye that a big sight better ’n 
I could too, but es fer t’ service; wall, I’ll have 
a little t’ say on that if ye want t’ hear it.” 

"Go ahead, Captain; we’re all ears,” said 
Mr. Warner. "I’d like to get a good straight- 
from-the-shoulder opinion from one on the in- 
side.” 

"Good,” said the keeper as he began to pour 
another cup of tea for himself. 

"T’ begin with, I kin say that the Lighthouse 
Service is the finest an’ best regolated depart- 
ment of the United States Government from 
my p’int o’ view. An’ it has the finest lot of 
healthy, big-minded, faithful men in it that kin 


78 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


be scraped together on t’ face o’ this earth. I 
guess it is because these men are in it that the 
service has been kept as sweet an’ clean as ’tis. 
You hain’t never heard o’ no political scandals 
or what-not in this here department, have ye? 
No, siree, an’ they hain’t agoin’ t’ be none, not 
while fellers like they got in it stick. 

“T’ pay hainT big an’ t’ hours is long and 
tedious, but there hain’t a man of us that ’ud 
shirk his duty in any respect. Just you look 
over my file of the Lighthouse Service Bulletin 
which is printed every month. There hain’t 
an issue what goes by ’thout it has some men- 
tion o’ some one doin’ a brave act. Tain’t 
much of a mention t’ be sure, but we hain’t 
hankering fer medals er praise. It’s aour 
business t’ pertect property on t’ high seas an’ 
save lives when we can. 

“Why, there’s some keepers as is so faithful 
they won’t even take a day off. I read as haow 
a lighthouse keeper over on t’ other coast in 
t’ C’lumby River section has only taken two 
days off duty in twenty-three years. An’ there 
was the old man who kept the Van Weis Point 
light down York way. Died when he was 
ninety-three years old an’ he had been in t’ 


MEN OF HONOR 


79 


service fifty-two years. Peers t’ me like a man 
jest natchelly gits faithful t’ minute he’s set t’ 
watching out fer some one else’s safety. 
There’s wimmen in t’ service too, an’ they’re 
jest t’ same; all Grace Darlings when it comes 
t’ a p’int o’ nerve. Look at that air woman out 
Frisco way who stood all night on the plat- 
form outside t’ light in a thick fog strikin’ the 
bell with a tack hammer because the machinery 
had got out o’ order. An’ there was Ida 
Lewis, who lived at the Lime Rock Lighthouse 
near Newport fer fifty-seven years. She was 
keeper fer thirty-two years after her father 
died. ’Tis said she saved as many as thirteen 
people from drownin’ during her life. Hain’t 
that a record fer ye?” 

“You bet it is,” said Ray and Jack, carried 
away with the old man’s enthusiasm. 

“Wall, from that ye can gather what I think 
o’ t’ Lighthouse Service. No, siree, I hain’t 
got many kicks agin it. There’s on’y one er 
two things need regulatin’! There hain’t no 
pension fer men who git too old fer the service 
an’ fer men who are injured in the service, but 
we’re all hopin’ that’ll be changed some day 
an’ I guess ’twill. An’ in the meantime every 


80 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

one o’ us is workin’ our hardest t’ keep t’ service 
jest es clean es it can be/’ 

The two lads were thoroughly impressed by 
the captain’s recital, and although they did not 
express it each was of the opinion that if all 
the men in the Lighthouse Service were as sin- 
cere as he, the organization could not help but 
be free from any taint. 

“By George,” said Mr. Warner at the con- 
clusion of the captain’s remarks, “you surely 
are enthusiastic, but I think you have every 
reason to be so, for there isn’t a finer lot of 
men in the world than the five thousand odd 
who have to do with lighting Uncle Sam’s coast 
lines. And now, Captain, if you have a couple 
of amber goggles, which I believe the depart- 
ment is furnishing you men with who have 
charge of flashing lights, I’ll take the boys aloft 
and tell them something about the lamp. That 
will give you time to clean up around before 
you get ready to go on watch.” 

Captain Eli filled his pipe first, then rum- 
maging around in his bedroom produced two 
sets of goggles which he gave to the boys. 

“My goggles are hanging on a peg in the 


MEN OF HONOR 


81 


lower light room/' he said to Mr. Warner. 

The engineer led the way through the en- 
closed passage that connected the cottage with 
the light and presently the boys found them- 
selves in the base of the tower from where a 
spiral staircase wound its way aloft. 

'This is a mighty old light. I think it was 
built nearly a century ago before lighthouse 
construction was done as scientifically as it is 
to-day/’ said the engineer. "But, neverthe- 
less, it must have been built well to withstand 
the elements so long. Although the promon- 
tory on which it stands is nearly one hundred 
feet high and the tower thirty feet tall, Captain 
Eli has sent in a report on several occasions of 
waves having broken panels in the lantern, so 
you can see the old place has stood through 
some storms.” 

The trio were climbing the circular stairs 
now and Jack noticed, as they wended their 
way round and round the building, that a long 
steel wire dangled down into the well of the 
stairway from the very top of the tower. On 
the end of the wire was a heavy weight. Of 
course the boys sought a reason for this, and 


82 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


when they reached the lower light room where 
Mr. Warner found his goggles, Jack asked him 
about it. 

“That weight,” said the engineer as he ad- 
justed the amber glasses, “operates the clock 
works in the lamp, which in turn drive the 
lenses round and round the lamp and produce 
the flash. Come aloft now and I’ll explain it 
all in detail, only first put on your glasses be- 
cause your eyes will not stand the strain of 
looking into the light.” 

The boys did as requested and a moment 
later they climbed up the last section of the 
spiral stairs and entered the light. This was 
a platform on the very top of the tower en- 
closed by eight panels of glass. There in the 
center, revolving slowly round and round an 
incandescent oil vapor lamp was the big lens. 
Mr. Warner began to explain immediately. 

“To begin with, the first forms of light were, 
of course, wood and coal fires which were 
burned in braziers. These lights were used in 
England and in the Mediterranean for a long 
time. The next step was naturally the candle, 
but no matter how big they made their tallows, 
or how many of them they crowded into a 


MEN OF HONOR 


83 


lantern, the result was a very weak light. 
Then came the oil lamps of all varieties. Some 
burned one kind of oil, some another; a few 
had one kind of a wick, a few had another 
type, and so on. Indeed, the experimenting 
with marine lights has extended over a long 
period and even to-day there is no universal 
form of lighting for lighthouses. But that, of 
course, is because conditions are not the same 
at each light. Acetylene gas is used for light 
buoys and similar purposes, and electricity is 
used where a supply is available, or where it 
can be manufactured conveniently; but the 
most satisfactory illuminant, all things con- 
sidered, is kerosene oil. Indeed, the Light- 
house Service consumes more than half a mil- 
lion gallons of kerosene annually. 

“For a long time lamps with from one to 
five concentric wicks were used in the major- 
ity of lighthouses, but these are gradually giv- 
ing way to incandescent oil lamps, such as the 
one you see behind the lens there. It is a 
small compact affair and it gives a most bril- 
liant light and at the same time consumes very 
little oil. The kerosene, which is supplied 
from a tank in the lower light room, is heated 


84 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


and vaporized, the vapor mixing with air under 
an incandescent mantle and burning as steadily 
as an incandescent lamp in a city street, only 
brighter.” 

“That’s very interesting,” said Ray, who had 
been watching the lamp for some time. “Now 
tell us something about the lens, won’t you? 
How did they come to invent such a compli- 
cated-looking affair ?” 

“Yes, I’ll tell you about the lens. Old-time 
lighthouse engineers were always experiment- 
ing on how to improve the efficiency of a light 
and when they got through changing the forms 
of fuel they tried the use of reflectors of vari- 
ous types* Their efforts were more or less 
successful, but when a French physician by the 
name of Fresnel came forward with an elabo- 
rate system of lenses the science of coast light- 
ing was revolutionized. This lens you see 
before you is the present-day result of his ef- 
forts. It embodies his idea worked out to per- 
fection. You will notice that there is a cen- 
tral lens, or bull’s-eye, and that around it are 
grouped prisms of highly polished glass. The 
idea is this: The light throws rays on every 
side, back, front, top, bottom, and all over. 


MEN OF HONOR 


85 


Well, these prisms of glass grasp, as it were, 
each ray that shoots out at the side and top 
and literally bend it and shoot it forward. 
In that way all the light from the lamp is gath- 
ered into one bundle and sent out in a given 
direction, instead of radiating off on all sides. 
The lens works exactly like a megaphone 
which your football rooters use at Drueryville, 
Jack. Do you get the idea?” 

“Indeed I do and it is mighty interesting,” 
assured the young Vermonter. 

“Good, and now if you’ve seen all you want 
up here we’ll go down in the lower light room, 
for it is hot in the lantern here and besides even 
with these goggles the bright light hurts my 
eyes.” 

“Mine too,” said Ray, leading the way 
through the tiny trap door and down the stair- 
way to the lower light room. 

“Why do they have some lights flashing and 
some just a steady glare?” asked Jack when 
they reached the next room. 

“Well, lighthouses to-day can be made to 
serve a double purpose. They warn mariners 
of a dangerous coast and by means of flashes 
they tell vessels which particular light they are 


86 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


near so the seamen know their exact position 
when they are traveling the coast. This light 
shows steadily for one minute and then gives 
a five-second flash. The next light down the 
coast may give two or three flashes a minute 
and so on.” 

“Do sea captains have to know the flashes of 
every light along the coast?” queried Jack? 

“Indeed they do and a lot more too,” said 
Mr. Warner. 

“What is the candle-power of lighthouse 
lamps?” asked Ray. 

“They vary a great deal,” said Mr. Warner; 
“this is very small compared with some of our 
lights. The one on the Highlands, marking 
the approach to New York Harbor, is said to 
be of 25,000,000 candle-power. Not long ago 
we sent one to the Hawaiian Island that had a 
lens nearly nine feet tall and weighed four 
tons. It is mounded, or floated rather, on a 
bed of mercury and makes a complete revolu- 
tion every twenty seconds, sending out a double 
flash of 240,000 candle-power. If it were not 
for the curve of the earth it could be seen more 
than forty miles.” 

“Jiminy, what a light!” exclaimed Jack. 


MEN OF HONOR 


87 


“Did you hear that, Captain Eli ?" The keeper 
was just coming up the spiral stairs to go on 
watch when Mr. Warner completed his state- 
ment. 

“Yes, that sort o’ makes my little pet up aloft 
there seem like a taller candle, don't it?" 

“Well, Captain," said Mr. Warner, “how's 
the weather for a clear day to-morrow?" 

“Right's a fiddle, sir," said the old man. 

“And what time is high tide?" 

“Tide turns at seven to-morrow — it'll be full 
at two o'clock," said the lightkeeper. 

“Good, we've got to make a landing on the 
reef, you know, and we want clear weather 
for such a venture. I only hope we all come 
out of it alive," said Mr. Warner, showing 
great concern. Then turning to the boys he 
said: “Well, lads, if you are going to be up 
to tussle with the waves to-morrow, you'd 
do well to go to bed. You’ll probably have to 
bunk together. Which room is theirs, Cap- 
tain ?" 

“The little room in t' so’est corner," said the 
captain, adjusting his goggles preparatory to a 
visit to the light. Then before he climbed the 
stairs he paused a moment and spoke. “Say, 


88 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


have either of you a watch that keeps good 
time? I dropped mine this mornin’ an’ now 
she won’t tick any more. An’ ye know I feel 
sort o’ lonesome up aloft here when I hain’t 
got a timepiece about me. Sometimes my 
watch’s face is t’ on’y friendly face I see fer 
months, ’ception that o’ old Mitch, t’ lobster- 
man who lives, down t’other end o’ t’ island. 
He’s the only one on this forsaken strip o’ land 
except me.” 

“Here, Captain, take my watch,” said Jack, 
hastily handing over the gold timepiece that his 
father had given him several years before. 

“Thank ’e, when ye want it jest let me know. 
I calc-late I’ll be able t’ fix mine in a day er 
so.” 

Then as he started up the spiral stairs he 
said: 

“Well, good night, boys. I’ll be abed when 
ye start out fer t’ rock to-morrow, so here’s 
luck an’ hopin’ ye’ll come back safe. Good 
night.” 

And Ray and Jack started downstairs, both 
wondering what the next day would bring 
forth. 


CHAPTER VI 


WINNING THE ROCK 

T HUMP, thump, thump. 

“Hi, Jack! Hello, Ray! Come, wake 
up. Think you can sleep all day? It's half- 
past five.” 

Thus were the two lads aroused next morn- 
ing by Mr. Warner as he came from his room 
across the hall. 

“Come,” he added, “tumble out. The boat 
will start for the rock before you are dressed.” 

This was enough to stir both lads, for they 
had set their hearts on taking part in the tus- 
sle with the waves to gain the top of Cobra 
Head. They were on their feet in a jiffy and 
presently were whisking on their clothes with 
little regard for sartorial effect. Jack managed 
to get his undershirt on wrong side out, as boys 
frequently do when they are in a hurry, and 
Ray discovered that he was trying to get his 
left foot into his right shoe. But in a remark- 
89 


90 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


ably short time they had adjusted things, 
dashed cold water in their faces, given their 
hair a brief but effective brushing, and emerged 
from their room. 

Ray’s arm was a little stiff at first, but the 
iodine that had been applied the day before had 
taken most of the soreness out of the cut and 
he positively refused to keep his hand in a sling 
any longer. 

“I’ll keep on the bandage, but I won’t wear 
a sling. Makes me feel like an invalid,” he 
told Jack as they descended the stairs and 
joined Mr. Warner in front of the lighthouse 
cottage. 

Captain Eli was of course snugly tucked in 
bed and snoring lustily at that unseemly hour, 
and since the engineer and his young compan- 
ions were destined to be early risers during 
their stay on the island it had been decided 
that they take their breakfast with the crew 
in the main mess-hall. 

Bongo, the big negro cook of the outfit, was 
just sounding his call to quarters on the bot- 
tom of a big dishpan when the three entered 
the long low building. There was little of a 
decorative nature about the arrangement of 


WINNING THE ROCK 


9i 


the tables in the hall. There were two, that 
extended the full length of the room and were 
flanked on either side by long backless benches. 

In twos and threes and groups of half a 
dozen the burly lighthouse builders came from 
the bunk-house to the mess-hall. They were a 
happy-go-lucky lot who could not resist a little 
horse play by way of a morning’s greeting and 
the fisticuffs and good-natured chaffing that re- 
sulted made Bongo’s face shine with merriment 
as he hustled about the room with big bowls of 
steaming victuals. 

Jack, Ray and Mr. Warner crowded in be- 
side the foreman, Big O’Brien, and fell to 
with as much zest as the rest of the men. The 
breakfast was of a rather coarse nature, to be 
sure, consisting chiefly of baked beans, liberal 
slices of salt pork, thick slices of bread, canned 
peaches and coffee as strong and black as 
Bongo could possibly brew it. But Jack ate 
with a decided relish, nor did he pause to com- 
pare the breakfast with those served at Druery- 
ville. 

During the entire meal Mr. Warner and 
Big O'Brien were in earnest conversation, to 
which Jack and Ray were very attentive. The 


92 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

men were discussing the details of the expedi- 
tion to the rock, and as the lads listened to the 
preparations that were being made they real- 
ized more and more that they were about to 
embark upon a hazardous undertaking. 

By quarter of six the foreman and the 
engineer had drained their cups and pushed 
back their plates. Others of the crew were 
doing the same thing when O’Brien stood up 
and shouted, “Come, bhoys, ye have t’ sha-ake 
a leg. In haf en hour-r we’ll man t’ bhoat and 
r-run out on t’ last o’ the down tide. That’ll 
give us an hour-r t’ fuss ar-round befer it 
sthar-rts a-racin’ in agin. Come on, Mike, 
and you, Sandy, and Lafe there, git a wiggle 
on yez, yer all part of the boat crew.” And 
presently there was the scuffle of many feet and 
the rasp of the benches being pushed back, and 
five minutes after O’Brien left the mess-hall 
Bongo had the place to himself. 

Before collecting his crew the foreman sin- 
gled out three sun-tanned workmen who were 
among the last to leave the mess-hall and with 
them at his heels the big Irishman went into 
one of the tool sheds. Shortly all four reap- 
peared, one dragging a little brass cannon, such 


WINNING THE ROCK 


93 


as is used by coast guards, while the others 
carried a big open box, into which hundreds 
of feet of sail cord was coiled upon pegs. 

The cannon was hauled to the cliff’s edge, 
loaded and sighted by one of the weather- 
beaten trio, so as to hurl a rocket-like projec- 
tile over the ugly gray rock out there where 
the breakers curled. 

Of course Jack and Ray could not entirely 
understand what it was all about, but, while 
they were wondering, Mr. Warner, who had 
gone to his office for his steel surveying tape 
and plumb line, arrived on the scene and ex- 
plained that, when the men succeeded in land- 
ing on Cobra Head, the projectile would be 
fired so as to carry a rope to them. And when 
they had all things fast, a breeches-buoy would 
be rigged to carry more men from the cliff 
to the rock. 

Upon Mr. Warner’s return, O’Brien quickly 
gathered his crew and, with Jack and Ray 
among them, they started down the pathway 
that led to the beach where the two whale- 
boats were moored. Into these the men 
swarmed and a few minutes later the craft shot 
away from the strip of sand and headed north 


94 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


inside the reef and toward the dangerous 
Cobra Head. 

It was low water and the long jagged reef, 
exposed from end to end, looked exactly like a 
giant of the species after which it had been 
named. Outside, beyond the wicked rocks, 
rolled the Atlantic; great ground swells heav- 
ing in restlessly and thundering against the 
granite barrier with a grumbling roar. Jack 
and Ray, who sat in the stern of the whaleboat 
with Mr. Warner and Big O’Brien, were fas- 
cinated by the sight. 

But, although the waves piled up outside, the 
strip of water between the island and the beach 
was unruffled, so far as the surface was con- 
cerned. Under this calm exterior, however, 
were currents and cross-currents that slipped 
oilily over the granite-strewn bottom in spite 
of the fact that it was the hour for slack water. 
Jack could see from the way Big O’Brien 
handled the tiller and the strength that the men 
put in their tugs at the oars that the force of 
these currents was tremendous, and he won- 
dered what that strip of water would be like 
when the tide turned and began to come in. 

As the whaleboat proceeded northward and 


WINNING THE ROCK 


95 


approached the big rock the currents became 
more vicious. They ripped and swirled and 
licked at the side of the sturdy vessel like the 
advance guard of Neptune’s forces defending 
the rock from the invaders. The men were 
bending to the oars now and grunting with 
each stroke, and Jack and Ray could see the 
muscles in their knotted arms stand out under 
the strain. Slowly but surely the boat drew 
nearer the tremendous boulder, and as the lads 
got a closer view of the pedestal on which the 
new lighthouse was to be erected they realized 
why Mr. Warner had cause to worry about the 
outcome of the expedition. 

For fifty feet about the great chunk of gran- 
ite the water fairly boiled with eddies and cur- 
rents and the force of the heaving swells of the 
Atlantic. Here all these met and struggled 
for supremacy, and the ugly sides of Cobra 
Head were lashed and pounded by tons of 
water hurled against them. It seemed folly 
for a craft even as stanch as the big whale- 
boat to venture into that turmoil and dare the 
approach of the rock. 

And to make the situation harder the head 
presented a grim and foreboding surface to the 


9 6 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


adventurers. Indeed, there did not appear to 
be a crack, or crevice into which the men could 
get a foothold when they attempted a landing, 
and if there really were any they were well 
covered with slippery brown rock weed and 
kelp that draped the sides of the massive stone. 
In truth, as Jack gazed upon the grim barrier, 
it looked to him like the great shaggy head 
of Medusa with her snaky locks tossed about in 
the hissing breakers. And the thunder of the 
tumbling water was almost deafening. 

“Mighty ugly looking, isn’t it?” shouted Mr. 
Warner, for a shout was necessary to make 
his voice heard above the roar. 

“I should say so,” cried the boys, trying to 
suppress their excitement. 

Big O’Brien cupped one hand about his 
mouth and shouted to the boat crew : 

“Row on, boys. Pull, an’ we’ll go ar-round 
t’ blitherin’ thing t’ see if ther-re be a place fer 
a fly t’ sthick on.” And the men bent to once 
more and urged the craft forward, keeping 
outside of the ring of troubled water as much 
as possible. 

Slowly they made their way round the circle, 
the whaleboat pitching and rolling like a cork. 


WINNING THE ROCK 


97 


Foot by foot they moved through the boiling, 
foam-flecked water and all the time Big OBrien 
and Mr. Warner scanned the great granite 
crag for a place to attempt a landing. 

And at last they found it. To be sure it 
was not much of a landing place, but then it 
was better than a sheer wall of granite covered 
with slippery kelp. On the ocean side where 
the great breakers dashed in with a roar the 
rock weed had been all torn away by the force 
of the water. Ages of erosion had worn soft 
spots in the granite away, too, until there re- 
mained a slopping trough into which the water 
dashed with a hiss and fountained twenty feet 
in the air. 

The constant action on the sloping side had 
worn the hard stone as smooth as glass and the 
dashing of the wave plumes had pitted the rock 
here and there above, so that a man of great 
agility could hope to gain the top if he moved 
fast enough and could beat these curling 
tongues of water that shot against the rock and 
licked it clean. 

“Tiz there 5 er no place, Chief/ 5 shouted the 
foreman to Mr. Warner. Then, as the engi- 
neer studied the situation, he shouted again. 


98 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“May we be per-rtechted whin we tr-ry too; 
fer if wan o’ thim waves hits yez a slap in t’ 
back ’twill be Davy Jones’ Locker t’ next stop. 
They’ll suck yez under in a whink, an’ yez’ll 
niver see daylight agin. No shwimmin’ yez 
ivver learnt will save yez agin the undertow.” 

“Well, the engineer who made the survey 
last year did it, O’Brien, and I guess we can do 
as much,” called Mr. Warner. 

“Sure-re yez ’er a Kilkenny cat fer pluck,” 
said the foreman, “but I’m wid yez. Hi, 
bhoys, we’ll make a landin’. Tiz me an’ Mr. 
Warner what does it an’ don’t anither wan o’ 
yez even think o’ thr-ryin’. Yez hear-r me 
now. I’ll lick t’ life out o’ eny man who even 
sthands up in t’ bhoat. Here, Lanky Sims, 
yez ’er t’ bist sailor in t’ outfit ; take t’ tiller and 
mind yez kape her hull. Jist a shlip an’ she’ll 
be smashed t’ kindlin’ agin t’ r-rock an’ we’ll 
all be at t’ bhottom.” 

Lanky Sims, a tall, raw-boned Yankee who 
had been brought up on the high seas, came 
from the bow and took O’Brien’s place. Mr. 
Warner turned solemnly and shook hands with 
Jack and Ray, and O’Brien did the same. Not 
a word did they utter, but the lads understood, 


WINNING THE ROCK 


99 


and a lump as big as an apple came into Jack’s 
throat. 

The engineer and the foreman made their 
way to the bow of the boat. Then Lanky Sims 
took a fresh quid from a black plug of tobacco, 
spat over the side and shouted : 

“ Yo-heave-ho, boys!” 

And the men bent to the oars with a will. 
Sims took the craft out toward the open ocean, 
then turned her, and with the swells at her 
stern started to ride in slowly, keeping his eyes 
pinned on the sloping trough of rock into 
which each big wave plunged and surged aloft 
with a gurgling hiss. Nearer and nearer they 
drew, the men rowing with short strokes and 
keeping their great bodies alert and ready to 
obey Sims’ orders. Mr. Warner had decided 
to try first, in spite of the Irishman’s protests, 
and he stood waiting in the bow, one foot on 
the gunwale and his hand resting on Big 
O’Brien’s shoulder to steady himself. 

Sims watched the waves with calculating 
eyes. Not a muscle in his face moved. Not a 
nerve in his body quivered. Closer and closer 
to certain destruction moved the pitching boat. 
A great wave raised it, held it trembling aloft 


100 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


for a moment, then slipped out from under it 
and shot into the trough, spurting foam and 
water aloft and drenching the entire crew. 
And the moment its force had been spent and 
the water began to suck backward Sims gave 
the expected order. 

“Yo-heave-ho!” he roared and bent his 
body forward. The oars dug deep and the 
whaleboat shot forward! Mr. Warner hesi- 
tated a moment, then jumped! Into the 
trough he dropped and up the slippery granite 
he scrambled. He reached the first niche, the 
second, the third. He was ten feet up, twelve, 
and now fifteen. Then Sims shouted: 

“Back, boys, back water quick. Here 
comes another.” 

The oak oars bent and creaked under the 
strain. The whaleboat shot backward and full 
into the oncoming wave. For a fraction of a 
second it stopped dead and every timber quiv- 
ered. Then with a rush it shot backward 
again and the wave slipped under it and hurled 
itself into the trough, its great curling tongue 
licking up the side of the rock as if seeking to 
tear Mr. Warner from the little niches to which 
he clung. 


WINNING THE ROCK 


IOI 


But the engineer was safe. He was 
drenched with foam and spray, but he was well 
out of the way of the dangerous water. Up 
he climbed, slower now, feeling his way from 
place to place; while the boat backed off to a 
safe distance and the crew watched his prog- 
ress. Finally he gained the top and stood 
erect. Then, what a shout went up from the 
men in the whaler ! 

It was O’Brien’s turn now. The big Irish- 
man stood up in the bow while Sims began 
maneuvering the boat once more. Again it 
approached the rock slowly, riding in on the 
long waves until it began to get dangerously 
near the big boulder. Then the tall Yankee 
at the tiller waited, tense and alert, watching 
his chance to run in immediately after a big 
wave had spent itself, and back the boat out 
of danger before the next wave could hurl it 
against the granite and shatter it into splin- 
ters. 

The chance came. A big wave burst with a 
roar against the rock, the spray splashing in all 
directions. Then, as the tons of water slipped 
back again, Sim roared his “Yo-heave-ho” 
command. 


102 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


In shot the boat against the curling, suck- 
ing eddies. Big O'Brien balanced a moment 
on the gunwale and leapt forward. Into the 
trough he dropped. Then began the scramble 
for the first niche before the next wave surged 
in and seized him. Up he climbed over the 
slippery stone. He reached the first of the 
grooves and was trying to get a foothold in an- 
other when — his hand slipped ! The next mo- 
ment he shot down the trough and back to the 
very spot upon which he had landed! Franti- 
cally he struggled to his knees, then to his feet, 
only to slip prone again. Then with a hiss 
and a roar the next wave came curling in. He 
was doomed ! 

The force of the water hurled him up the 
slippery trough, raised him high in the air and 
dropped him backward, helpless, into the spume 
at the base of the rock. 

“Merciful Providence protect him! He's 
gone !” cried Sims, turning white. 

Jack and Ray were numb with horror. 
Big O'Brien had been whisked from the face 
of the earth like a straw. 

But before they could collect their scattered 


WINNING THE ROCK 


103 


wits Lanky Sims’ voice was heard again above 
the roar of the water. 

“Look! Quick! There he is! On the 
port side! You boy, grab him! There! See 
him!” 

Ray saw a distorted mass of clothing and 
legs rise to the surface just under him. It was 
whirled round and round by the force of the 
undercurrent for a brief instant before it 
started to sink again. Blindly the lad reached 
over the side and clutched. His fingers closed 
upon a cold and clammy wrist, to which he 
clung despite the surging and tearing of the 
current. 

Forgetful of the danger for the moment, 
Lanky Sims let go the tiller and reaching a 
long arm into the water seized hold of the big 
foreman too. Then together they dragged 
him over the gunwale and into the boat. And 
while Jack and Ray took care of the all but 
drowned foreman, Sims directed the whaleboat 
out of the lashing water and toward the open 
sea where there were only the long rollers to 
combat. 

The two boys worked manfully over Big 


104 JACK straw, lighthouse builder 


O’Brien. First they got all of the water out 
of his lungs. Then with him lying prone in 
the bottom of the boat they started artificial 
respiration, as Jack had been taught it by the 
football coach at Drueryville Academy. For 
fully fifteen minutes the boys labored over the 
foreman while Sims and the rest of the crew 
looked on in silence. And gradually their ef- 
forts told, for O’Brien’s eyelids quivered once 
or twice and finally opened. Two red spots be- 
gan to show in his ashen cheeks, and after a 
few moments he regained consciousness. 

“Phwat happened? — ugh — O, shur-re I 
know. The big wave caught me, huh?” he 
said rather thickly as he sat up. 

“It didn’t on’y ketch ye but it smashed t’ life 
ha’af outen ye,” said Lanky Sims. 

“How about Mr. War-rner,” demanded 
O’Brien, turning and looking toward the big 
rock. Then for the first time the men in the 
boat thought of the engineer. 

There on the top of Cobra Head stood the 
lighthouse builder. He had seen the accident 
and the rescue as well, and Jack could guess 
what his feeling must have been as he waited 


WINNING THE ROCK 


io5 


there for a signal to tell him whether his fore- 
man was alive or dead. 

“Wave to him, O’Brien. Wave your hand 
and show him that you are still alive,” cried 
Jack. And the big Irishman struggled to his 
feet and, holding on to Lanky Sims, waved and 
shouted as loud as he could. 

Mr. Warner answered the signal with a 
warning wave, which told the men in the boat 
quite plainly that he wanted them to keep off 
and not attempt to land another man. 

“Sur-r I’d like t’ thr-ry anither fling at it 
jist t’ show meself that I can’t be bate be a 
duckin’, but if the boss sez 'No/ thin ‘No’ ’tiz. 
Come on, Lank, thur-rn t’ boat and we’ll go 
back t’ th’ island.” 

During the return journey Jack and Ray 
kept their eye on Mr. Warner. They saw him 
scrambling about on the rock, making measure- 
ments and marking off various sections of the 
rugged Head. Then they saw him send a sig- 
nal to the men on the cliff who waited to fire 
a lifeline to him. They saw, too, the puff of 
smoke from the little brass cannon and they 
watched the rocket with the line trailing out be- 


10 6 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


hind it describe a big arc over the rock and fall 
into the sea beyond, dropping the rope almost 
into Mr. Warner’s hands. 

The engineer began to haul in immediately 
and presently he dragged out of the surf a 
heavier section of rope to which the line was 
fastened. This was the cable upon which the 
breeches-buoy was to be suspended, and Mr. 
Warner spent some time in making the end 
secure over the top of the big lump of granite 
that formed the cobra’s head. The men on 
shore worked quickly at rigging the buoy, too, 
and by the time the boat crew had landed and 
made its way up the promontory, stone cutters 
were already being sent down to the rock to 
level its surface and build the tower that was to 
support the aerial cableway. And, when Jack 
saw this, he realized that Cobra Reef had been 
conquered and that the lighthouse was actually 
under way. 


CHAPTER VII 


UNDER ARREST 

W ITH the completion of the aerial cable- 
way and the clearing of the surface of 
the rock the Hood Island construction camp 
became a very busy place. A score or more 
of men were to be seen on the big rock when- 
ever the waves were not piling up on top of it 
(as always happened when a storm came in) 
and the donkey engine that operated the cable- 
way was puffing and snorting from daylight 
until darkness settled down. 

Jack and Ray found that their duties in- 
creased with the rush of work also, for besides 
their tasks in Mr. Warner’s office there were 
numerous other small jobs about the camp that 
they could accomplish. But for all that they 
had plenty of time on their hands to roam 
about the rocky shores of the island, or take 
short trips in the dory that belonged to Cap- 
tain Eli and was moored down off the sandy 
beach near the whaleboats. The boys made 
107 


io8 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


frequent trips to Cobra Head, also traveling 
by way of the aerial cable of course. Indeed, 
Jack and Big O’Brien were the first to ride 
down to the rock, on a section of stone that 
was conveyed to the lighthouse site. This was 
more or less of a perilous trip and Big O’Brien 
insisted on accompanying the lad when he 
heard that he was going. 

But with all these possibilities for a good 
time Ray seemed to become less interested in 
the construction work as the days went on. 
In truth, he developed a certain melancholy 
air which, after a time, became very noticeable. 
This, of course, puzzled Jack, as it did the 
engineer and the others of the camp who had 
become friendly with him. More than once 
Jack sought to gain his confidence and have 
him tell his troubles, but the boy always ap- 
peared to cheer up for the time and assure the 
youth from Vermont that he had not a single 
trouble in the world. Jack knew well that this 
was not true, however, and to add to the mys- 
tery of it all, Ray frequently strayed away 
from the camp in the evening or when he had 
no work to do and went wandering down along 
the rocky shore of the island until he came to a 


UNDER ARREST 


109 


secluded spot where he would sit and brood 
over his troubles for hours at a time. 

It was after one of these mysterious dis- 
appearances one afternoon that Jack went in 
search of his companion, quite determined to 
get at the bottom of all that was upsetting his 
peace of mind. The lad from Drueryville had 
seen Ray steal away and go down the path that 
led to the little beach near where the whaleboats 
were moored. He watched him as long as he 
could, but when he saw Ray walk the entire 
length of the sandy strip and start climbing 
along the rock-strewn shore beyond, he decided 
to follow. 

But Jack soon discovered that his chum had 
not gone far. Just on the other side of the 
beach he saw the lonesome figure perched upon 
a smooth chunk of granite, his back resting 
against a large boulder just behind him. Ray’s 
hat was off and the wind was playing with 
his hair. He was staring off into space in a 
most preoccupied manner, and the expression 
on his face was that of a lad who was greatly 
disappointed over something. 

So absorbed was he with his troubles that 
Jack managed to come up very close to him 


no JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


before the young swordfisherman was aware 
of his presence. When he did notice the Ver- 
monter, he seemed very much chagrined at be- 
ing discovered and a sheepish smile wrinkled 
the corners of his mouth. / 

“Hello, Ray,” said Jack, sitting down upon 
the rock beside him. “I hope you'll excuse me 
for following you, but — well, hang it all, you 
looked so glum that I just naturally worry over 
you. Something is on your mind, old chap, 
and I do wish that you would spit it out. Tell 
me all about it. Maybe I can help you or at 
least give you some advice.” 

“Pshaw, Jack, don't mind me. My troubles 
don't amount to a row o' pins to any one ex- 
cept myself. Shucks, let's forget about it.” 

“No, siree, now, Ray, I want to know. 
Look here; we've been pretty good friends 
since you came to the island in that whirlwind 
fashion, a couple of weeks ago, and I think that 
I should know all about your difficulties.” 

“Aw, I haven't any real troubles. I'm just 
disappointed, that's all. You see — aw — er — 
let's forget about it, will you?” 

“No, no, Ray, come on, shout it out,” in- 
sisted Jack. 


UNDER ARREST 


hi 


“I tell you it’s just disappointment, that’s all. 
You see I had laid so much store by it that 
I—” 

“By what?” demanded Jack. 

“Why, by my model — my non-sinkable life- 
boat, you know. The one that Uncle Vance 
threw overboard.” 

“Oh, I see, now I understand. I’d forgot- 
ten all about it. Well, why don’t you build a 
new model, old chap ?” 

“Why — er — well you see, Jack, I’ve been 
trying to, but, hang it all, I haven’t the ma- 
terial, for one thing, and — and — well, I’ve — 
you see there are a lot of figures about it that 
I’ve forgotten. I don’t know just how I did 
build the first one. It was made of sheet metal 
all soldered together and I can’t get a bit of 
tin or sheet iron here. I tried to make one of 
wood but that don’t go either. Gee, I am up 
against it. And I wanted to see if I couldn’t 
earn enough money with it — aw, shucks, let’s 
quit talkin’ about it. There’s no use in worry- 
ing you about it too, Jack.” 

“Well, I’m mighty interested, Ray,” said 
Jack encouragingly. “What was the principle 
of the thing?” 


ii 2 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Why, just this, Jack. You remember 
when the Titanic was wrecked about a year 
ago? Sure you do. Well, when that hap- 
pened there was a lot of talk about not enough 
lifeboats, and about the general unsafe condi- 
tion of the boats that were being used on board 
the various steamers. That set me a-thinking 
and I decided to try and build a boat that 
wouldn’t sink and could not turn over, no mat- 
ter how hard a wave hit it. Then after 
months of pottering around I worked out my 
model which looked like a big pumpkin seed 
roofed over. It was all fitted up, airtight 
compartments in the bow and stern, and the 
keel was so balanced, and the roof so well made, 
that even if the boat should be launched up- 
side down, it would right itself and not ship 
a drop of water. There was a little place for 
a motor which, of course, could not be put in 
the model, but could be put in a big boat of 
regulation lifeboat size. It could also be pro- 
pelled by oars and it had a number of advan- 
tages over the old-fashioned open lifeboat.” 

“My, but that’s interesting,” said Jack; “I 
sure would like to see it.” 

“Well, I guess it’ll be a long time before I 


UNDER ARREST 


ii3 

can build another and, by George, I’m getting 
older all the time. Fm nearly seventeen 
now.” 

“What of that?” said Jack. 

“What of it? Why, I want to go to high 
school some time, and college too. I sort of 
hoped that I might make money enough out 
of my invention to pay my way through school. 
I can't wait until I am a full-grown man to go 
to 'prep' school, can I ? And now that I've quit 
Uncle Vance I haven’t a single person in the 
world to help me. Not that I could ever ex- 
pect any real help from him. But then a fel- 
low needs a grown-up friend or two, no matter 
how cussed mean they are to him at times. 
But Uncle Vance was dead set against my ever 
going to school again — said it would make me 
even lazier than I am. Fm not lazy, am I, 
Jack?” 

“Indeed, you’re not,” said Jack, and then he 
fell to thinking, for Ray’s remarks about school 
brought Jack’s mind back to Drueryville Acad- 
emy, and, of course, the first thing that he 
thought of in connection with the school was 
the football situation for the next Fall. 

“Jiminy, I certainly wish that you had 


1 1 4 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


made money out of your invention,” he said 
after a moment. 

“Why?” queried Ray in surprise. 

“Well, we need a full-back out at Drueryville 
Academy and if you were going to go to ‘prep’ 
school I surely would see that you found your 
way over to Vermont. You’d make a corking 
full-back, Ray. Got the right build and all, and 
you’re strong as a bull, too. Ever play foot- 
ball?” 

“Ever play? No, but I’d like to. Hang it, 
Jack, I haven’t ever been able to play at any- 
thing. Never had the chance that other boys 
get. All my life has been work and darned 
hard work, too. And when I haven’t been 
working, I’ve been quarreling with Uncle 
Vance or trying to keep out of his way, either 
one,” said Ray bitterly. 

“Never mind,” said Jack solicitously, for he 
saw how unhappy Ray really was. “Your 
time will come, just you wait and see. I’m 
going to speak to Mr. Warner about your 
schooling, anyway. Perhaps he can help you 
out with some good advice at least. Pshaw, 
come on, let’s forget about your troubles. I’ll 
tell you what we’ll do. Let’s go for a row in 


UNDER ARREST 


ii5 

Captain Eli’s dory. We’ve never been down 
near the lower end of the island. I’d like to 
explore. Are you game for a row, Ray? Mr. 
Warner says that he will not have anything for 
us to do until some time to-morrow. How 
about it?” 

"Sure enough,” said the unhappy youngster 
and presently the two boys were climbing over 
the rocks back toward the little strip of beach 
where the boats waited, gently tugging at their 
mooring lines. 

It was a wonderful July afternoon, with 
scarcely a cloud in the warm blue sky. Out 
beyond the reef the broad Atlantic rolled on 
lazily under the Summer sun, while inside even 
the currents that usually raced between the 
ledge of rocks and the island seemed to have 
become sluggish. 

"Let me take the oars,” said Ray, after the 
two lads had waded out and climbed aboard 
the dory, "I have the blues and there’s nothing 
like some good husky exercise to work them 
out of a fellow’s system.” 

Jack consented and shortly the little craft 
was slipping along through the water under 
the young swordfisherman’s steady stroke. In 


ii 6 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


half an hour they had passed the southern end 
of the reef and gone beyond the reach of the 
currents into the open sea. Ray kept the boat 
about half a mile off the shore of the island and 
rowed steadily southward, apparently taking a 
great deal of pleasure in working the stiffness 
out of his muscular arms and back. As for 
Jack, he lay off in the stern of the boat think- 
ing of nothing in particular. 

Presently, however, Ray stopped rowing and 
appeared to listen. Then turning, he looked 
ahead and announced. 

“Jack, there’s a school of mackerel ahead of 
us. Look in the locker there under the stern 
thwart, and see if Captain Eli has any fishing 
tackle. Perhaps we can find a couple of jigs 
in there.” 

“Eh, how’s that? How do you know there’s 
a school of mackerel ahead? I see some gulls 
out there feeding on something but — ” 

“That’s just ft. I heard ’em squealing like a 
whole flock of cats. If you’d been around salt 
water as long as I have you’d know they are 
feeding on little menhaden and wherever 
there’s a school of them you’ll be sure to find 
mackerel — or pollock. If it’s a school of pol- 


UNDER ARREST 


ii 7 

lock then we can have some fun, providing, of 
course, we can find some fish lines. Pollock 
are the gamiest fish in the sea.” 

Jack became enthusiastic immediately and 
quickly began a search under the stern seat. 
In a moment he resurrected a dilapidated mar- 
ket basket half full of coils of line, fish hooks, 
jigs, and a double handful of clams. 

“Fine!” exclaimed Ray, surveying the out- 
fit. “We’ll have fresh fish for supper all right. 
Here, Jack, break open one of those clams and 
cut out a chunk of the tough part. There, 
that’s it. Now hook it onto that jig; just 
double it over the hook so, it doesn’t make any 
difference whether you have the point covered 
or not. Now throw it over the stern, and let 
out about sixty feet of line while I row. 
You’ll feel ’em take hold in a minute; they’re 
coming this way.” 

Ray bent to the oars again and started the 
boat toward the flock of gulls that were flying 
close to the surface and diving in and out of the 
water, squeaking and calling at a furious rate. 
Jack had hardly got the jig overboard before 
the dory was among the fish. They were big 
fellows, according to Jack’s way of thinking, 


n8 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


but Ray said that they were only young pollock. 
But Jack had no time to argue the matter, for 
the next second something struck his jig sav- 
agely and the heavy line shot through his fin- 
gers and scorched a blister on the flesh before 
the fish let go. 

“Oh — wow,” howled Jack, shaking his hand. 

“Ho, ho, that was funny,” laughed Ray. 
“Loop the line around your hand next time 
Jack, and snub him good. Then keep hauling 
in as hard as you can, or you’ll lose him.” 

Jack hooked another piece of clam onto the 
jig and tossed it astern, and the moment he 
had the line looped about his hand came an- 
other savage jerk — Zipp-pp hissed the line 
through the water, but Jack snubbed back and 
started to haul away hand over hand, the fish 
thrashing from side to side and even jumping 
clear of the water in his mad effort to tear 
free. 

“Wow, what a corker,” cried Jack, as he 
swung the struggling thing into the dory. 

“Oh, he isn’t so big,” said Ray. “Pollock 
grow sixty and seventy pounds and I’ve seen 
’em even bigger than that. That’s only a 
young one you caught. Weighs about five 


UNDER ARREST 


119 

pounds, I guess. This is a school of little 
ones, I tell you. Try again.” 

Jack hove the jig again and for the next fif- 
teen minutes he was busy as could be hauling 
in the big silvery fish. They bit ravenously 
and before he knew it he had caught at least 
a score. Finally his fingers became so blis- 
tered and chafed that he simply had to quit. 

“Here,” he said, “you take the line, Ray. 
Fm through.” 

“All right,” said Ray. “Keep rowing 
around in a big figure eight. Keep right in the 
school. Follow the birds. IT1 see if I can’t 
yank out a couple of big ones just for luck. 
I wish I had a pair of nippers, though — those 
are woolen gloves with the fingers cut. They 
protect your hands. All fishermen use ’em up 
here on the Maine coast.” 

But before Ray had caught more than a 
couple of fish, the surface of the water became 
suddenly quiet again and the troop of gulls, 
after a few farewell squeaks, dispersed and 
flew off in different directions. 

“Hang it, just when I started to get inter- 
ested the bloomin’ things disappear. That’s 
my luck. Too bad. They’ll come to the sur- 


120 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


face again somewhere else, but there’s no use 
of our trying to follow them. They may come 
up a mile or so out to sea. Guess we’re 
through fishing for to-day. I don’t care 
though, do you?” 

“No, only for your sake,” said Jack. “I was 
selfish to keep the line so long.” 

“Oh, pshaw, don’t mind me. I’ve had more 
fishing than a little. When a fellow has to do 
it for a living it ceases to be fun,” said Ray 
with a smile, as he sat down in the stern and 
surveyed the catch. 

“Jiminy,” he added, “we’ve enough fish to 
feed the camp.” 

“I guess we have, but say, I’ll bet that net 
over there is filled with ’em,” answered Jack. 

“Net? What net? Where?” asked Ray. 

“Why, that net over there. See those buoys 
in toward the island? They are fastened to a 
net, aren’t they?” 

Ray looked in the direction in which Jack 
was pointing and saw a line of half a dozen 
black and white buoys dancing on the surface. 

“No, Jack, those aren’t net buoys. Those 
are lobster pots. Some one has a line of traps 


UNDER ARREST 


I2X 


set along here. Looks like he’d picked out a 
good place too. All rock bottom.” 

“Are those lobster traps?” asked Jack, be- 
coming interested immediately. 

“Sure they are. Net buoys are entirely dif- 
ferent looking affairs.” 

“I never saw a lobster pot. What do they 
look like?” queried the Vermonter. 

“Pshaw, don’t you know what they are like. 
Let’s row over and we’ll haul one. I don’t 
believe it would make any difference so long 
as we don’t take any of the lobsters. I know 
it’s considered a terrible thing among lobster- 
men for one man to haul another man’s trap, 
but we won’t steal anything.” 

“Oh, I have an idea what they look like. 
Never mind about pulling it up,” said Jack. 

“No, no, come on, we’ll row over. I’ll haul 
it. ’Twon’t make a particle of difference. 
And besides there’s no one around to see us. 
I wonder who owns it?” 

“Why, perhaps that old fellow Captain Eli 
says lives on this end of the island. He’s 
a lobsterman,” said Jack as he headed the boat 
in the direction of the buoys. 


122 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


‘That’s right, perhaps they are his,” said 
Ray. 

It was only a matter of a hundred yards or 
more to the buoy and soon Jack pulled the dory 
around close to the bobbing thing. Then Ray 
stood up and reaching the line attached to it 
began to pull it in hand over hand. Presently 
he reached a section of the line to which two 
tightly corked bottles were attached. He held 
them up for Jack to see, explaining in the 
meantime that they were fastened to the warp- 
ing, which is the fisherman’s term for the line, 
to keep it off the bottom so that it would not 
foul with the rocks. The bottles, he said, 
acted as floats which kept the warping 
midway between the rocky bottom and the 
surface. 

Ray pulled some more and soon the big lob- 
ster pot came dripping from the water. It 
was a peculiar crate-like affair, shaped like half 
of a cylinder, and at either end was a pocket- 
like net with a hole in the very bottom through 
which the lobsters crawled to get at the bait 
suspended in a bag in the middle of the trap. 
There were four big green lobsters in the trap 
and innumerable brown rock crabs which 


UNDER ARREST 


123 


clicked their horny claws maliciously as Jack 
and Ray took hold of the trap. 

“Say, but they look ugly, don’t they?” ex- 
claimed Ray as he looked between the slats. 

“Ugly? You bet they are. If that big 
green fellow should get hold of your finger 
you’d lose it (I mean your finger) mighty 
quick.” 

“What do they use for bait?” asked Jack. 

“Dead fish — flounders mostly, although — ” 

“ ’I there, throw that air trap hoverboard ! 
Quick now! Look lively there, you bloomin’ 
lobster piruts. Hoverboard wi’ hit an’ put hup 
yer ’ands er hi’ll blow yer bloody ’eds hofif,” 
shouted some one. And turning, the two lads 
found themselves facing a bewhiskered old 
fisherman with a wooden leg, who stood in the 
stern of a trim little sloop, the tiller in one hand 
and a tremendously big but old-fashioned re- 
volver in the other. 

“By George, it’s the owner of the lobster 
traps,” said Ray, shoving the contrivance over- 
board and putting his hands above his head. 
Jack looked at the blunderbuss, then having 
made up his mind that perhaps it would go off 
if urged, he too held up his hands. 


124 JACK straw, lighthouse builder 

“I got ’e now, I ’ave. I been a layin’ fer 
t’ two o’ ye fer a week past. Says I t’ my- 
self says I, Mitch, Hole Topper, they'll show 
hup agin an' you can slip hout hin yer hale 
Betsy Hanne an' poak yer hole barker hunder 
their noses and there you ’ave ’em. An’ hup 
you showed, an’ ’ere I are wi’ me Betsy Hanne 
and me hole barker, an’ ’ere you are jest es neat 
en’ snug wi’ yer ’ands above yer ’ed and lookin’ 
t’ bloomin’ crookedest crooks as ever was. An’ 
now me an’ me Betsy Hanne is goin’ t’ take 
both o’ ye t’ th’ warden at Haustin’s Pool an’ 
’e’ll jug ye as tight as ever was. Honely 
which one o’ you is th’ lad as has t’ ’nitials 
J.S.?” 

The little sloop had come up in the wind in 
the meantime and the fisherman, still keeping 
the lads covered with the old revolver, had by 
means of a short boathook pulled the dory 
alongside. 

“Come,” he said impatiently, “which o’ ye 
is hit ’as ’is ’nitials J. S. ?” 

“Why — er — ah — why those are my initials,” 
stuttered the amazed Jack Straw, “but — but — 
how did you come to know them ?” 

“O-ho-ho-ho-Mister Innercent, ’ow did I 


UNDER ARREST 


125 


come t’ know ? Why I got yer watch as you so 
kindly left hin my traps, I did.” 

“My watch? — in your traps?” exclaimed 
Jack. 

“I says a ’ow I found hit in my traps, ye 
pirut. Yes.” 

“Why — why — but how did it get there? It 
wasn’t my watch you found. I’m sure of it.” 

“O-ho-ho-ho, hit wasn’t ’is watch. O-ho-ho, 
blow me ef ’e ain’t tryin’ t’ joke me. Looke 
’er, young feller, you jest says a ’ow yer ’nitials 
is J. S. an’ bein’s I found ’e a-’aulin’ o’ my 
lobster traps hit ain’t no doubt as you’r t’ 
guilty party, ’specially as ’ow I found t’ 
watch hin my trap. Oh, I figgered hit hall 
hout. You ’ad t’ trap hup on t’ side o’ t’ dory 
an’ arter you ’ad got finished a-pinchin’ t’ lob- 
sters as belongs t’ me overboard you shoves t’ 
trap wi’ t’ chain o’ yer watch caught hin t’ 
net. Hout slips yer watch an’ you bein’ 
hexcited an’ hin a ’urry never misses hit till 
you gets ’ome. Then you sez, Where about 
’ave I left my watch?’ an’ you don’t know, see?” 

“Why, that’s all wrong,” said Jack. “I 
never stole any of your lobsters and besides 
my watch hasn’t disappeared.” 


126 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Looke ’ere, you young pirut, hif this ain’t 
your watch then show me your watch.” The 
old lobsterman held up a big silver timepiece 
attached to a silver chain. 

“Pshaw, no; mine’s gold,” said Jack, feel- 
ing in his watch pocket. Then suddenly the 
expression on the lad’s face changed. “Why 
— why — it’s gone; where on earth — what has 
happened to my watch?” 

“O-ho-ho. E-he-he, what’s ’appened to ’is 
watch. T’ blomin’ pirut. Why ’ere hit his, 
lad; ’ere hit his.” 

“No, no. I know where it is. I loaned it 
to Captain Eli and — ” 

“O-ho-ho, a likely story, but just t’ same 
I’m goin’ t’ tike ’e both t’ th’ warden at Hau- 
stin’s Pool. ’E’ll tike care o’ ye. Come, ’op 
haboard t’ Betsy Hanne. Lively now ’er I’ll 
blow yer bloomin’ ’eads hoff, blime me hif I 
don’t.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


LOBSTER PIRATES 

T HERE remained nothing for Jack and 
Ray to do but climb aboard. With the 
determined old fisherman standing there in the 
stern of the Betsy Anne, looking coldly along 
the barrel of the old “barker,” as he called his 
pistol, the two lads felt that he had them at a 
disadvantage. From the age and condition of 
the revolver it did not look as if it could do 
very much damage. But nevertheless the two 
boys were not of a mind to experiment with its 
shooting qualities by making themselves the 
target. Therefore they made haste to obey the 
old salt’s command, especially when he em- 
phasized it by waving the “barker” very close 
to them. Also they moved forward into the 
bow of the boat at his direction. Then, as he 
tied the painter of Captain Eli’s dory to a stern 
cleat and grasped the tiller of his own boat, he 
muttered : 


127 


128 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Now, blime me, wi’ all things shipshape, an’ 
two o’ th’ bloominest lobster pirates as ever 
was a-stowed awi in t’ bow, were hoff for 
Haustin’s Pool, Miss Betsy Hcrnne.” He let 
out the sheet and shoved over the tiller, and as 
if in answer to his suggestion the little boat 
filled her main sail and presently was scudding 
merrily through the water. 

All three occupants of the boat were silent 
for some time after that, but the doughty cap- 
tain kept his eyes fastened on the two boys in 
the bow and the “barker” within convenient 
reach. 

After a time, however, the little old one- 
legged fisherman could stand the silence no 
longer, and began to muse once more, appar- 
ently addressing the Betsy Anne as before. 

“Me bein’ a jest man as ’ow I are an’ me 
bein’ a right-minded person as ’ow I ’opes I 
are, ’ow can I g’ back on me bloomin’ senses? 
’Ere I been a-findin’ o’ my traps robbed, these 
weeks past, an’ ’ere I comes along hin me 
hole Betsy Hanne an’ finds these ’ere two 
a-robbin’ of ’em and then I says t’ one o’ ’em, 
says I, ‘Whose ’nitials is J. S. ?’ an’ ’e says, says 
’e, ‘My ’nitials is J. S.,’ an’ I says, then, ‘ ’Ere’s 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


129 


your watch as I found hin my lobster traps/ 
says I, an’ then ’e ups an’ denies hit and says, 
says ’e, ‘Hit ain’t my watch, ’ere’s my watch,’ 
an’ goes fer t’ find ’is watch, an’ then seems 
surprised like ’cause it ain’t hin ’e’s pocket 
which o’ course hit ain’t ’cause hit’s in my ’and 
all t’ time, an’ then ’e says, says ’e, ‘Oh I left 
hit ’ome wi’ Cap’n Eli/ says ’e, an’ I ax ye, me 
bein’ a jest man as ever was an’ a right-thinkin’ 
hole sea-dog as is, I ax ye, what for are I t’ 
think?” 

“I tell you, we are not lobster thieves. We 
are from the construction camp over on Hood 
Island. We’re friends of Captain Eli’s — Cap- 
tain Eli Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Island 
light,” asserted Jack, who had become very in- 
dignant listening to the old man’s recital. 

“O-ho-ho, ’ear ’im now. Blime me hif ’e 
don’t talk back as is just what all crooked lob- 
ster piruts does. Look ’ere, sonny, ’ow’s hit 
you was a-raisin’ o’ my lobster pots then?” 
asked the lobsterman. 

“Why, I hauled it because Jack here never 
saw a lobster pot before and he was just curi- 
ous. I wanted to show him. We didn’t take 
a single fish and we didn’t intend to. I know 


I 3 0 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


it was wrong for us to even haul it but then we 
aren’t thieves. And we don’t know who’s been 
taking your lobsters either,” said Ray, who had 
also become irritated by the old salt. 

“Keel ’aul me, listen at ’im. ’E says as ’ow 
’e’s friend ’ere ain’t nuvver seen a lobster pot. 
O-ho-ho, a likely story, young feller, O-ho-ho.” 

“It’s true, though,” insisted Jack. “We are 
friends of Captain Eli. Why, that’s his dory 
we have been using.” 

“Listen at ’im now, listen. ’E says as ’ow 
that’s Cap’n Eli’s dory when Cap’n Eli’s dory 
is brown painted,” mused the old tar. 

“Pooh, you don’t use your eyes,” exploded 
Ray in disgust. “Can’t you see that that dory 
has just been repainted green.” 

“As fer my a-usin’ my heyes, mebby I does 
an’ then agin’ mebby I don’t. Me not bein’ 
a man give for to arger enny, I won’t say ‘Ay’ 
ner ‘Nay.’ But I say, say I, hif that air his 
Cap’n Eli’s dory painted green, why t’ on’y way 
as two o’ the bloomines’ lobster piruts as ever 
was come by hit is they come by hit crooked, 
same has they comes by ever’thing else. Cap’n 
Eli ain’t goin’ for t’ lend his dory as is painted 
brown to two o’ t’ crookedest lobster stealers 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


131 

as was ever fit for to walk t’ plank, blime me. 
Go for t’ conterdick that will ’e,” answered the 
fisherman with finality. 

‘"Oh, pshaw, what’s the use of arguing with 
him,” said Jack in disgust. 

“Right an’ so, right an’ so. Hit ain’t no use 
for t’ argey wi’ me. Save hit all for t’ bloomin’ 
warden. ’Es paid for t’ argey, ’e is, an’ argey 
’e will, that’s sartin’.” 

“I hope he’s easier to convince than our 
friend with the peg leg here. But I guess he 
will. I’ve been to Austin’s Pool before with 
Uncle Vance and they all seem civilized there 
at least,” said Ray to Jack, under his breath. 

Again the three lapsed into silence while the 
Betsy Anne slipped away on a long port reach. 
Hood Island dropped behind rapidly, and off 
the starboard bow Jack and Ray could see a 
thin gray speck on the horizon which they con- 
cluded must be the mainland. 

“How long does it take this craft of yours 
to make Austin’s Pool or wherever it is you 
are taking us?” demanded Jack of the skipper 
a little later when the Betsy Anne had come 
about and started on a starboard tack. 

“Has soon’s any craft o’ ’er size kin make 


i 3 2 jack straw, lighthouse builder 


hit,” was the lobsterman’s ambiguous reply. 

“Huh, that’s definite,” muttered the lad from 
Vermont. 

“Well, then I shud say as ’ow she’d make hit 
soon enough for Warden Williams to lock two 
capital lobster piruts hup before supper,” added 
the fisherman. 

“Jiminy,” said Jack, quite disturbed. “That 
means we won’t get back to Hood Island until 
long after dark, Ray, even if we can convince 
this warden fellow, whoever he is, that we are 
not lobster thieves.” 

“’Ood Hisland,” exclaimed the lobsterman. 
“Ye ain’t expectin’ ever for t’ git back there 
again, are ’e? Why, that warden jest goes 
daft on lobster piruts like you. ’E’ll keep ’e 
in ’is lockup for a year or two, mebby three,” 
assured the lobsterman. 

The thoughts of such a possibility really be- 
gan to worry Jack. He knew perfectly well 
that he and Ray could convince any fair- 
minded person that they were not lobster 
pirates. In truth, if worse came to worse, they 
could send for Mr. Warner and some of their 
friends in the construction camp and in that 
way prove their innocence. But at best that 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


133 


would take a whole day and perhaps longer, 
and he had visions of spending time in some 
vile-smelling country jail until assistance ar- 
rived. 

Such disturbing thoughts occupied them both 
for most of the afternoon. They conversed 
in undertones occasionally, but for the most 
part they were silent, thinking of their strange 
predicament and wondering what their friends 
back on Hood Island would think when they 
did not turn up at the sound of Bongo's supper 
call that evening. 

As the sun dropped lower in the western sky 
a stiff er breeze sprung up and the Betsy Anne 
redoubled her speed. Already she had ap- 
proached so close to the mainland that Jack 
and Ray could hear the grumble of the surf 
that rolled in upon the rock-strewn beach, and 
it was not long after that when the little boat 
was headed into a big crescent-shaped bay 
about four miles across where the beach was 
broad and of the whitest sand. At one horn 
of the crescent was a little hamlet and innumer- 
able docks, while far across on the other side 
was a long low sandy point which stretched out 
into the water and was capped with what ap- 


134 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


peared at a distance to be a number of dilapi- 
dated sheds. Jack learned later that this 
sandy cape was called Frenchman’s Point, and 
that the shanties he saw were the dwellings of 
a horde of French Canadians, half-breed In- 
dians and other riffraff that lived on what they 
could find or steal along the beach. 

The Betsy Anne headed in for the docks at 
the Pool. The long low piers were fairly 
crowded with craft of all kinds, ranging from 
tiny motor boats and fishing sloops to long 
low-bank schooners and trim-looking trawlers. 
This was Austin’s Pool, one of the best-known 
fishing villages in that section of Maine, and 
the point from which fish and lobsters were 
sent to Portland, Boston, and New York. 

Fishermen swarmed over the dock. Some 
were loading their little vessels with tubs of 
bait and butts of water, others were unloading 
their day’s catch, while still others were just 
sitting around on the string pieces or tie posts, 
smoking and gossiping and waiting for the 
time to put out for a night’s work on near-by 
fishing grounds. 

Old Mitchell took particular care to bring 
the Betsy Anne alongside of the most popular 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


135 


dock of all and as he came about and dropped 
the main sail of his sloop he was greeted by a 
chorus from the pier. 

“How’s luck over Hood Island way, Mitch?” 

“How many markers this time, English?” 

“What’s the haul?” 

To this last the lobsterman answered by 
waving his “barker” and pointing to the two 
lads in the bow. 

“What’s t’ ’aul, say you ? Why, ’ere’s t’ ’aul. 
Two o’ t’ bloominest lobster piruts as ever was. 
Found ’em a robbin’ o’ my traps right afore 
my heyes,” he said with a grin. 

Instantly Jack and Ray became the center of 
attention. Seamen gathered from all quar- 
ters, it seemed, and looked the lads over, as 
Old Mitchell forced them to climb the land- 
ing ladder. 

Of course the two boys felt greatly hu- 
miliated at all this, especially since the lobster- 
man still insisted on flourishing his revolver. 

“Aw, say, there’s no need of your parading 
that revolver, is there?” demanded Jack, who 
had become quite indignant. “We’re your 
prisoners and we’ll go with you peaceably so 
you can stick it back into your pocket. You 


1 36 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


make us look like a couple of desperate char- 
acters that way.” 

“Desprut? Now blow me hif ye ain’t des- 
prut. I shed say I won’t put me 'barker’ awi. 
I ain’t tikin’ no chances of your a-runnin’ hoff, 
I ain’t. Go on, walk hup a’ead o’ me now,” 
said the old mariner with emphasis. 

"Be keerful, Mitch,” said one of the fisher- 
men. "They looks t’ me like murderers. See 
t’ willinus mug on that air one with t’ blue 
jacket.” 

"Been a-stealin’ yer lobsters, eh, Mitch?” 
said another. "Wall, t’ last lobster pirut got 
ten years. Like es not t’ judge’ll give these 
’ere lads just es much.” 

"Look a bad lot, they does,” remarked some 
one else. 

All this and a great deal more was said by 
the fishermen as the lads walked up the dock 
in front of Old Mitchell. Of course they felt 
humiliated. Who could feel otherwise under 
the circumstances? 

From the pier the lads proceeded up the 
board walk of a narrow street lined with low 
sheds and dingy stores which reeked with the 
odor of fish. Their alert guard stumped along 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


137 

behind them still with the revolver at their 
backs. 

But presently as they went on the thumping 
of Mitchell's wooden leg suddenly ceased and 
immediately the old man set up a great hue and 
cry. 

“ ’Ere, ’ere, stop ’em, they’re a-runnin’ awi. 
Stop ’em, I say.” 

Jack and Ray stopped in surprise and turned 
to look and what they saw almost convulsed 
them with laughter. 

There was the lobsterman in the middle of 
the board walk struggling to release the end 
of his peg leg from the grip of a knot hole into 
which he had stepped, and at the same time 
trying to keep the lads covered with his revol- 
ver. It was extremely ludicrous and the boys 
simply could not help laughing at the old man’s 
plight. 

“Ha, ha, ho, ho, he stepped in a knot hole,” 
cried Jack in glee. 

“Now’s our chance to run, he, he, ho, ho, ho. 
He couldn’t shoot or run or do much of any- 
thing now, could he? Look at him squirm,” 
shouted Ray. 

“What’s the use of running? That would 


138 jack straw, lighthouse builder 


make us look guilty. Ha, ha, ha, this is funny. 
Come on, let’s help the old duffer out of his 
fix,” said Jack. 

And much to the amazement of the lobster- 
man, the two “desprut” lobster pirates re- 
turned and pried his wooden appendage out 
of the hole into which it had been wedged. 

“Well, blow me, this is funny,” said Mitchell, 
when he was again on a firm foundation. “I 
thought as ’ow you’d run hoff when ye seed me 
in such a pickle.” 

“We told you we’d go along peaceably, 
didn’t we?” said Jack, still giggling. 

“Keel ’aul me, so ye did, so ye did,” said their 
captor, and for the rest of the journey up the 
narrow street he stumped along beside them 
with the revolver concealed in his pocket. 

The trio stopped, at Mitchell’s direction, be- 
fore a dingy building over the door of which 
hung a faded notary’s sign, bearing the 
name of William Williams. The lobsterman 
pushed open the door and the two lads pre- 
ceded him into the dim interior. A cloud of 
thick tobacco smoke filled the place, and the 
lads were not long in discovering that it ema- 
nated from a tremendous pipe being smoked 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


139 


by an equally tremendous individual who sat 
behind a desk in one corner of the room. He 
was a giant of a man, but for all that he had 
a good-natured face, and Ray and Jack liked 
him immediately. There was another person 
in the room also, a boy of about Ray’s age 
and not unlike him in build and features. He 
sat at a smaller desk against the opposite 
wall and was evidently Warden Williams’ as- 
sistant. 

“Well, ’ere I are, Warden, ’ere I are wi’ two 
o’ t’ bloominest funniest lobster piruts as ever 
I sees. ’Ere I finds ’em a-’aulin’ o’ my lobster 
traps in broad daylight an’ one o’ ’em says as 
’ow ’is ’nitials is t’ same es on ’is watch what I 
found in my lobster traps t’ other day, an’ yet 
’e’s all fer deny in’ as ’e is a thief, blime ’e. 
Now hif — ” 

“What? What’s all this stuff you’re tryin’ 
t’ say?” demanded the warden, who was very 
much puzzled by the jumble of words Old 
Mitchell had just delivered. 

“Why, it’s this way, sir,” said Jack, speaking 
up. “Ray and I are from the Hood Island 
lighthouse construction camp. This after- 
noon we went out in Captain Eli’s dory for a 


140 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


row. We caught some fish too, and by chance 
ran across one of Mr. Mitchell’s lobster pots. 
I come from Vermont and I never saw a lob- 
ster trap in my life or knew how lobsters were 
caught and I asked Ray here to tell me some- 
thing about them. 

“Well, Ray volunteered to pull up one of the 
traps to show me what they looked like and 
just when we had hauled it and were looking 
at it, along came the owner here and arrested 
us for lobster stealing. We never took any of 
his lobsters and never intended to. Then he 
asked if my initials were J. S. and I said that 
they were. My name is John Monroe Straw- 
bridge. Then he felt certain that he had 
caught the men who had been robbing his lob- 
ster pots. You see, a few days ago he had 
found a watch and chain caught in one of his 
lobster pots and the watch bore the initials 
J.. S. It was not my watch, however, for mine 
has the initials J. M. S., and furthermore my 
watch is now in the possession of Captain Eli 
Whittaker, the keeper of Hood Island light. 
I loaned it to him several weeks ago and never 
thought to get it back. I told Mr. Mitchell all 
this, but he would not believe me and arrested 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


141 

us at the point of a revolver and brought us 
here. Do I state the case right, Mr. Mitchell ?” 

“Right has ever was,” said the old lobster- 
man, quite surprised to hear Jack make such a 
confession. “Right an’ proper as ever was an’ 
’ere’s t’ watch, sir.” 

Mitchell brought forth the big silver time- 
piece and laid it on the table before the warden. 

“That isn’t my watch,” asserted Jack. 
“Mine’s gold.” He said the last with no little 
pride. 

But the warden was not listening to him. 
He was examining the watch instead, and there 
was a certain eagerness about him as he turned 
the heavy timepiece over and over in his hand. 

“You found this in your lobster pot?” he 
demanded. 

“Keel ’aul me hif I didn’t, sir, an’ I can tell 
’e ’ow hit got there, too.” 

“Pooh, don’t take t’ trouble. I know. I 
lost a watch on a lobster pot once myself. 
Chain caught in the net and when I shoved the 
trap overboard it jerked the watch out of my 
pocket and overboard it went. Lots of 
watches have been lost that way.” 

“Ay, ay, sir,” said Mitchell. 


142 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

“Say, do you know who this belongs to?” 
said the warden. “Do you really know who's 
been tampering with your lobster traps?” 

“Why, Tm as says 'is 'nitials is J. S.,” said 
the lobsterman, pointing with his thumb to Jack. 

“Pshaw, no. That watch belongs to John 
Salmon — Salmon Jack, you know him. The 
cutthroat over at Frenchman's Point. Why, 
I've been trying to get some evidence on him 
for the last six months and this is the best 
we've found yet. This is his watch all right. 
I've seen it before and so has many another 
man.” 

“Eh, what, blime me? Then 'e mean t' say 
these 'ere lads ain’t lobster piruts ?” demanded 
Mitchell incredulously. 

“Why, I don't believe they are. They look 
like honest lads,” said the warden. 

“Well, keel 'aul me, now I come t' think on't 
they do that. My mistake, lads, axin' yer 
parding, my mistake,” said the old man, quite 
put out at the turn affairs had taken. “I 'opes 
ye'll excuse an hole sea-dog as is on'y got one 
leg. I ax yer parding, I does.” 

“Tut, tut, don't mention it,” said Jack and 
Ray together, as they shook the old fellow's 


LOBSTER PIRATES 


143 


hand. “We only hope you'll take us back to 
Hood Island with you." 

“I’d be ’onored, lads, ’onored. I on’y wish I 
’adn’t brung ’e awi.” 

“I’m mighty glad you did,’’ said the warden, 
“for you’ve brought the best piece of evidence 
I’ve ever been able to get against the worst 
lobster pirate on the Maine coast. The lobster 
patrol has been looking to get something on 
him for a long time and now, by George, if 
you’ll help me get out a warrant against him, 
we’ll arrest him. We’ll raid Frenchman’s 
Point this very night and arrest him and two or 
three others I have warrants for.’’ 

“An’ hif ye git t’ beggar wi’ now, jest let me 
’ave one crack at ’im wi’ a b’layin’ pin er such 
like,’’ said Mitchell truculently. 

“We’ll think about that afterward, but, by 
hookey, we’ll get Salmon Jack to-night or I’ll 
resign my job as chief of the lobster patrol. 
Dave, you go get Steve Basset, Ben Emery, 
Joe Milliken an’ whoever else you can find and 
swear ’em all in as deputies. Tell ’em we’re 
going to raid Frenchman’s Point to-night and 
to meet me at the long dock at half-past eight.’’ 

The lad in the corner of the room left the 


144 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


dingy office immediately. Then the warden 
turned to Mitchell and said, “You’d better come 
along too, if you want to see some fun. You 
can take care of our boats while we land on 
the point. Then you’ll be able to get a good 
look at the man who robbed your traps for 
we’ll bring him back with us or I’ll quit being 
an officer.” 

“May we go too?” exclaimed Jack and Ray 
in one breath. “We’re pretty husky.” 

“Sure thing. I’ll swear you in as deputies 
too. This will be a big night, you can bet. 
We’re after the scalps of several men besides 
Salmon Jack and they all hang out at the 
point.” 

“Whoop-e-e-e, great!” exclaimed Jack. 

“I’m keen for excitement,” said Ray. 

“All right, boys, you’ll get enough of it, I 
guess. In the meantime you two and Mitchell 
can come on up to my house and have supper. 
We’ll start from the long dock at eight-thirty.” 


CHAPTER IX 


THE RAID 

W TH the setting of the sun a light mist 
formed and hung above the surface of 
the big crescent-shaped bay on which Austin's 
Pool was located. The shadowy blanket was 
just heavy enough to dim the side lights of the 
little vessels that were moving in and out of 
the harbor, going to or returning from the 
fishing grounds, and to make the craft them- 
selves phantom-like and ghostly as they flitted 
by. 

Jack and Ray, with Warden Williams and 
Old Mitchell, were not the first to arrive at 
the end of the long dock which was the ap- 
pointed place of meeting for the party that was 
to raid Frenchman's Point. Indeed, as they 
made their way down the pier they could see a 
group of shadowy figures standing about the 
structure, the glowing openings of their pipe 
bowls making dull red sparks in the grayed 
darkness. 


145 


i 4 6 jack straw, lighthouse builder 


The matter of which kind of a boat would be 
best to take the party across the bay was under 
discussion when the warden and his three as- 
sistants arrived. Some advised the use of sail 
boats which would approach the Point in 
silence, while others suggested motor boats be- 
cause of their superior speed. The chief of 
the expedition soon settled the question, how- 
ever, by suggesting that Mitchell’s boat, the 
Betsy Anne, which was known to be one of the 
speediest of its size in that vicinity, be used 
to convey part of the group. Joe Milliken’s 
sloop was chartered to carry the remainder. 
There were twenty men all told, which pro- 
vided ten to each boat, thus allowing all to 
travel in comfort. 

Before embarking, however, a council of 
war was held, for every man of the twenty was 
decidedly eager to have the expedition a suc- 
cess. Not one of them had the slightest lik- 
ing for the riffraff of Frenchman’s Point and 
they said so in rather crude but forceful lan- 
guage. Indeed, almost every fisherman and 
lobsterman at the Pool had some grudge 
against Salmon Jack and other men of the no- 


THE RAID 


147 


torious settlement across the bay, and they 
were more than eager to pay up old scores. 
Nets had been. cut or stolen, lobsters and even 
lobster traps and lobster cars had disappeared, 
and the fishermen were quite certain that the 
honest old seamen who put in at the Pool were 
not to blame for these outrages. 

In truth, the fact that Old Mitchell had ac- 
tually secured evidence by means of which ar- 
rests and convictions could be made pleased 
every one in the fishing village who had heard 
of it so far, and probably Warden Williams 
could have had a hundred deputies if he had 
wanted them. His assistant, June Emery, 
whom Jack and Ray had seen in the warden’s 
office that evening and whom Mr. Williams had 
sent to organize the posse, had been discreet, 
however, and had only told the news of the 
proposed raid to the men whom he knew Mr. 
Williams was anxious to have as members of 
his party. 

Every man of them had come armed in some 
way or another. One or two had guns, but 
most of them carried clubs or short-handled, 
ugly looking mallets, which Ray informed Jack 


148 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


were called "muckles” and were used by cod- 
fishermen to kill the big fish as they were hauled 
aboard the dories out on the banks. 

The conference on the wharf’s end lasted 
fully fifteen minutes and finally resulted in 
Warden Williams outlining a plan of action. 

"Look here, boys,” he said. "It’ll be about 
half-past nine when we reach t’ P’int. By 
that time ha’af of the population of the shanties 
will be in Fred King’s hang-out, which is the 
only social center those heathens have. I sug- 
gest we land on the P’int as quickly as we can 
and go up and surround the rum shop. Then 
I’ll go inside and arrest whoever I want, and 
if they try to scatter, we’ll buckle into ’em and 
arrest every one we can lay hands on, even if 
we can’t prove anything agin’ ’em. How’s 
that?” 

"Right’s a fiddle,” said several. 

"Mighty smart figgerin’,” assured others. 

"All right,” said Warden Williams. "Now, 
boys, tumble aboard the boats. Mitchell, you 
take your load, and when we land you stand 
by your boat. Joe, you get your load and when 
we reach there let June Emery stand by your 
boat.” 


THE RAID 


149 


“Aw, Mr. Williams, does that keep me out 
of the fracas?” asked June, who had come 
around by the side of Jack and Ray. 

“Well, I don’t know,” said Mr. Williams, 
slowly scratching his head. “Seems sort of 
mean to keep you out of it. I guess Mitch, 
here, can watch the two boats if you’re keen 
to mix it up with the rest. All right, you can 
be one of the fightin’ force.” 

At this gratifying news, Jack and Ray could 
see the lad’s face brighten and they were glad 
for his sake that he was going to share what- 
ever excitement might attend the raid. All 
three lads kept close together and found a place 
in Mitchell’s boat during the scramble of em- 
barking. 

With the men aboard, the respective skippers 
were not long in casting off and presently the 
two boats were racing through the mist, the 
swift little Betsy Anne taking the lead imme- 
diately. 

To Jack and Ray there was a peculiar fas- 
cination about the night’s work. A primitive 
instinct seemed to work to the surface when 
they realized that they were slipping along 
silently through the black water, bent on sur- 


i5o JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


prising the lobster pirates. Indeed, the spirit 
of the expedition was so strong that before the 
boats were half way to the Point men and boys 
were talking in whispers and even the swish 
and gurgle under the bow seemed to become 
subdued. 

“Say, but this is exciting,” whispered Jack 
to June Emery, who sat at his elbow. 

“You bet it is. We’re in for a rough time 
too, I’m a-thinking. These Frenchmen ain’t 
any children when it comes to scrapping, and 
they’re liable to get their bad blood up before 
the night’s over and knife a couple of us. 
There’s been some wild doin’s over there at the 
Point sometimes when the whole crew was 
filled full of licker. Fred King sells licker 
right out in the open, even though it’s agin’ the 
law in Maine. They’re a bad lot, I tell you.” 

“I know French Canadians and half-breeds,” 
said Ray. “One got loose down in Ascog one 
night after he’d been out getting tight, and be- 
fore they got him into the lockup he’d laid three 
men up for repairs. They’ve bad blood in 
them, I guess.” 

“Jiminy, I wonder what will break loose to- 
night, then?” asked Ray breathlessly. 


THE RAID 


151 

“We’ll know in mighty short order now, for 
I can see lights out ahead there in the mist and 
I guess they come from the shanties on the 
Point. Some of their houses are built pretty 
well down on the beach,” said June. 

Jack and Ray looked out past the bulging jib 
and saw tiny specks of yellow through the gray 
darkness. Others saw these pin points of light 
too, for a murmur went ’round the boat and 
the lads could hear the men gathering their 
clubs and mallets together. As for Jack, he 
had armed himself with a weighty cudgel which 
he had found in Mr. Williams’ woodshed and 
as the boat approached the beach he took a 
firm grip upon this formidable weapon. Ray 
had equipped himself in a similar manner, while 
June carried a stout looking hickory ax-haft. 

Fortunately the boats approached French- 
man’s Point on the bay side and consequently 
there were no breakers to make landing diffi- 
cult. Indeed, Old Mitchell ran the Betsy 
Anne head on for the beach and grounded her 
without making the slightest noise. Milliken’s 
boat arrived a moment later and in less than 
five minutes the entire posse was ashore and 
ready for action. 


152 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

But few moments were wasted in getting the 
lay of the land, for most of the men knew 
Frenchman’s Point well enough to make any 
building there in any kind of a mist. That be- 
ing the case, Warden Williams took the lead 
and in a jiffy the men were trudging through 
the sands as silently as so many specters. As 
they moved on up the beach the lights became 
more numerous and now and then the little 
band passed within a stone’s toss of one of the 
many dilapidated shanties that made up the 
colony. 

Soon Jack found that they were proceeding 
down what appeared to be a street. There 
were shacks and shanties on either side and in 
one place there were strips of bark and pieces 
of old timber. This was evidently meant to 
serve as a sidewalk, but sand had blown up 
and covered it completely in many places. No 
one appeared to be awake about the place, for 
the men did not encounter a single person. In- 
deed, the only signs of life were the sparks of 
yellow light that glimmered through the mist 
and the muffled voices in the distance. 

It was toward the point from which the 
voices sounded that Warden Williams led his 


THE RAID 


153 


followers. The lights of Fred King’s hang-out 
soon became discernible, and when they did 
the men proceeded more cautiously, some of 
them crouching low and moving along with 
stealthy tread, although there was no reason 
for such caution since the sand muffled their 
footsteps. 

Once more Jack thrilled with the primitive 
instinct of the hunter. It did not take much of 
an imagination to conjure up feathered head- 
dresses instead of the so’westers the fishermen 
wore, and tomahawks and spears instead of 
clubs and mallets. Indeed, for the moment he 
felt exactly as if he had been transported back 
a century or more and was a member of an In- 
dian raiding party about to swoop down upon 
a log cabin filled with settlers. 

But he could not afford to give such thought 
playroom in his mind very long, for presently 
Mr. Williams halted the party and pointed out 
a low building not fifty feet distant. Light 
was glowing from its windows and above the 
shouts of laughter and the loud talking could 
be heard the discordant jangle of a dance hall 
piano. 

“There’s Fred King’s place and from the 


154 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


noise I calc-late there's a full house an' plenty 
doin',” said Mr. Williams. “Now, boys, sur- 
round the building and lie down in the sand 
until you hear things begin to happen. I'm 
goin' to take four or five with me an' kick my 
way into the place. Who wants to come 
along?” 

Jack and Ray crowded forward with several 
others while the rest of the party started to 
surround the building. 

“All right, boys, come on, an' if a free fight 
starts, the rest of you pile right in bellin' us 
and crack as many heads as you see. I'm go- 
ing after Salmon Jack, Long Aleck, and who- 
ever else I see in there,” said the warden as he 
started forward with his detachment of fol- 
lowers at his heels. 

On his way around to the front of the build- 
ing the warden drew a huge revolver from un- 
der his coat and cocked the hammer. Then as 
he reached the narrow porch that stretched in 
front of the doorway he muttered under his 
breath : 

“Be ready, lads; here goes." 

The next instant there was the tramping of 
many feet on the porch and a bang as Mr. 


THE RAID 


155 


Williams threw open the door and leapt inside, 
his revolver leveled. 

“Hands up,” he roared as he advanced, fol- 
lowed closely by the five men who had come to 
help him make the arrests. 

In the brief pause that followed Jack caught 
a glimpse of a smoke-filled room furnished with 
dirty, grimy-looking round tables and a big 
flat piano. The place was crowded with dis- 
reputable looking men. They were all swarthy 
and ugly of feature and Jack appraised them as 
about the worst looking lot of individuals he 
had ever set eyes upon. 

At the roared command of the warden, 
every man turned and faced the doorway, and 
when they saw the leveled revolver, backed up 
by determined faces and heavy looking clubs, 
they at once put their hands above their heads. 
Then before they could recover from their 
surprise Mr. Williams pointed out four of 
them with a wave of his revolver, calling each 
one of them by name. 

“You, Salmon Jack, an’ Long Aleck, come 
out here, an’ you Jean Bastian, and Paul Nez 
there, come on. You’re all under arrest. I’ve 
warrants for each one o’ — ” 


156 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


Crash ! 

Jack heard the rattle of glass and tin and 
the place was in total darkness! Some one 
had thrown a chair and smashed the big swing- 
ing oil lamp in the center of the room, putting 
it completely out. And the next instant came 
the cry : 

“Da warden ! Gat heem ! Queek ! Queek ! — ” 

Things began to happen in earnest after that. 
Indeed, events transpired so swiftly during the 
next five minutes that Jack could hardly believe 
that so much could happen in so short a time. 
There was the rush of feet and the muttering 
of the Frenchmen as they closed with the men 
in the doorway. Then came another rush 
from the rear as the rest of the posse came up. 
Jack was quite undetermined what to do. He 
could hear the voices of his friends and he 
could hear the curses of the Frenchmen, but 
for the life of him he could not tell which was 
which, and indeed for a moment he was help- 
lessly jostled one way and the other by the 
swaying fighters, and afraid to wield his club 
for fear of hitting some one of his own party. 

But presently a big fist shot out of the dark- 


THE RAID 


157 


ness and landed a stinging blow on his cheek. 
That settled the lad’s indecision. The club 
came down with a whack on the spot where 
the head behind that hand should have been. 
And it must have found its mark, for it landed 
solidly and was immediately followed by an 
explosion of French oaths. 

Again Jack struck and again the club landed. 
But this time it was seized and wrenched from 
his hand. The lad realized on the instant that 
he would feel the club next unless he could 
lay hand upon the man who had torn it from 
his grasp. Like a bull dog he leapt forward 
and grappled with his assailant. Then with a 
thump and a grunt from the man on the bot- 
tom they both landed upon the floor and began 
rolling over and over, pummeling each other 
with their fists. 

It was no mean antagonist that Jack had 
selected, as the lad realized when he felt the 
weight of the Frenchman. Nor did he have a 
soft fist or playful touch either. Indeed, every 
time that fist landed, Jack felt dazed for the 
moment. But he gave as much as he took. 
Every time his arms were free he drove a solid 


1 58 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

right at his enemy and each one brought forth 
a grunt and a string of curses. 

Over and over they rolled. Sometimes they 
struggled to their feet, only to trip over tables 
and chairs and go crashing down again, and 
all the time they were working away from the 
center of the turmoil which was about the door 
and out upon the narrow porch. Indeed, as 
they swayed backward and forward Jack sud- 
denly realized that they had fought their way 
clear across the room, for presently they 
brought up with a bang and a discordant jangle 
against the piano, tripped over the stool and 
crashed to the floor once more. 

But this time the Frenchman was on top of 
Jack and had one of the lad’s hands pinned fast 
to the floor. The Vermonter struck with the 
other at the ugly face which he felt, rather than 
saw, close to his own. It was a stinging blow, 
for the Frenchman roared with pain. Then 
in his frenzy his big hand reached out and 
clutched Jack about the throat. For a mo- 
ment the lobster thief did not seem to realize 
his advantage, but when he did his grip tight- 
ened about the boy’s windpipe. 

Jack thrashed and punched as hard as he 


THE RAID 


159 


could but the Frenchman had him pinned fast 
and did not seem to mind the boy’s blows at all. 
Jack was frantic ! The grip seemed to tighten ! 
The veins in his neck burned under the pres- 
sure, and his head swam with dizziness ! His 
lungs, too, seemed on the point of bursting 
with the air that was pent up in them! He 
grew sick and faint! Was this the end? 
Would the Frenchman hold on forever! 
Couldn’t he shake the big man off! Was 
he — 

Jack’s right hand had been groping about 
on the floor for something to strike with. 
Suddenly it closed upon the iron pivot of the 
piano stool. Grasping it thus, the seat made 
an excellent mallet and with all his might Jack 
struck once, twice, three times, at the face that 
bent above him ! 

Jack felt the grip on his throat relax and the 
man who had pinned him down fell helplessly 
across his body. The lad tried to throw him 
off, but his strength was almost gone. Once 
more he tried but this effort was weaker than 
the last, and with a third attempt he fainted. 

The sensation of a dipper of salt water being 


i6o JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


dashed into his face aroused Jack to conscious- 
ness. Never had cold seawater felt so pleas- 
ant. In spite of the fact that it was all running 
down his neck and into his shirtjack lay still 
and let himself be deluged again before he 
opened his eyes and sat up. He was lying in 
the bottom of the Betsy Anne with Ray and 
Warden Williams bending over him. 

“What do you want to scare a fellow most 
to death for? Are you all right now, Jack?” 
asked Ray with great concern. 

“Why, why — well, I guess I am — Say 
give me a dipper full of real water — er — ah, 
white water — aw, I mean fresh water. I’m 
as thirsty as a horse and my throat — ugh.” 
Jack felt tenderly of his neck as he spoke. 

“Sure, here you are, son,” said the warden. 

Jack drank gratefully. Then as he passed 
the dipper back to Mr. Williams, he asked: 

“Well, did you get Salmon Jack?” 

“Did we get him?” exclaimed the warden. 
“Why, lad, you laid him out so cold he hasn’t 
come to yet. Though I calculate he will by the 
time we reach the Pool. He’s over in Milli- 
ken’s boat. They’re workin* on him now. 
What did you hit him with, son, he’s almost — ” 


THE RAID 


161 


“What did I hit him with? Why, was that 
Salmon Jack I buckled into?” exclaimed the 
boy from Drueryville in surprise. 

“You bet it was. And it's a wonder to me 
he didn't knife you. We thought he had when 
we saw the two of you all in a heap on the floor. 
Guess he didn't have his dirk with him. What 
did you hit him with?” 

“Well, you see he was choking me and — I 
guess I found the top of the piano stool,” said 
Jack. 

“I thinks as 'ow 'e's lucky ye didn't 'ave 
a mind t' 'it 'im wi' t' pianner hinstid. T' 
seat made an' hawful dint as 'twas,” said Old 
Mitchell dryly, as he shifted the tiller a little 
to draw the Betsy Anne into her course. 

“Hello, Mr. Mitchell,” said Jack, turning 
toward the lobsterman whom he could discern 
but dimly through the mist which had thickened 
considerably. “Say, are you going to take us 
to Hood Island?” 

“ 'Eavens no, leastwise not t' night,” said the 
one-legged mariner as he spat over the side of 
the boat. “Won't t'morrer do jest as well?” 

“No, no, you can't go back to-night. T’ 
trip is too long and dangerous. Stay at my 


1 62 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


house and let English here take you back in 
the morning,” said Warden Williams. 

‘Thank ’e, Warden, but I ain’t ’customed t’ 
leave t’ Betsy Hanne hin a strange port. I’ll 
stick by t’ craft, though t’ boys kin go ’ome wi’ 
ye. There ain’t beddin’ ’nough aboard fer 
three, anyway,” said Mitchell. 

“All right,” consented Jack, “only I’m very 
much afraid Mr. Warner and our friends at 
the camp will be worried about us. I really 
don’t feel much like going back before I get 
some sleep, though. I’m about all in.” 

“So am I,” said Ray with a yawn. 

“Well, we’ll raise t’ pier head-lights at t’ 
Pool in a few minutes now and then as soon as 
we git our prisoners in t’ lockup we can all 
tumble into bed. I calc-late that — Hi, 
Mitchell, look out there — Them lights 
there — Quick! It’s a boat — she’ll run us 
down! Where’s that fish horn!” 

Warden Williams grasped a long tin horn 
and began to blow furiously. 

Jack and Ray both looked and beheld the 
dimmed lights of a sailing vessel coming out of 
the mist and dead toward them. But Old 
Mitchell had seen them too, and in a moment he 


THE RAID 


163 


became a man of action. He saw that he could 
not cross the on-coming vessel’s bow without 
being run down, so he threw over the helm and 
hauled in upon the sheet and in a jiffy the 
Betsy Anne had come up into the wind and 
almost to a full stop. At the same time the 
old man shouted at the top of his voice : 

“Ay, there, port yer ’elm, port ’er, ye bloody 
lubbers. Why n’t ye look where yer goin’. 
Blime ’e hif ’e ain’t awkkerd.” 

The man at the wheel of the larger vessel 
had acted as quickly as Mitchell, however, and 
the next moment a big yawl slipped through 
the fog not ten feet from the Betsy Anne . 
And as the ghostly craft faded out of sight 
again, Ray seized Jack by the arm and asked: 

“Jack, did you get a good look at her?” 

“No,” said the young Vermonter. “Why?” 

“Well it was a yawl — and — and — oh, well, it 
looked sort of familiar, that was all.” 


CHAPTER X 


THE CHASE 

J ACK awoke with a start. He knew in- 
stinctively that some one had been gazing 
at him while he slept and his feeling was that 
of impending trouble. He sat up quickly and 
turned to find Ray’s eyes fastened upon him. 
The erstwhile swordfisherman was sitting up 
in bed, his back resting against the head board 
and his arms clasped about his knees. 

“Hi you, Ray! Why, you startled the life 
out of me. What are you sitting there like a 
stone idol for, cheating an honest fellow out 
of his sleep, by staring at him with trouble in 
your eyes. How long have you been awake?” 
“Who? Me?” asked Ray absently. 

“Yes, you. Who did you think I meant? 
The bed post? Say, you’re worried, aren’t 
you? What’s sticking in your crop now? I’ll 
bet you’ve been sitting there half of the night. 
Hang it, Ray, what is the matter, anyway?” 
demanded Jack. 

164 


THE CHASE 165 

“Oh, nothing, I was just thinking, that’s 
all” 

“Thinking? About what? I’ll bet it was 
that blamed old model lifeboat of yours, wasn’t 
it?” 

“Well, something like that,” said Ray with a 
sheepish grin. 

“Now, I know you’re lying to me,” said Jack. 
“You weren’t thinking about the model at all 
or you wouldn’t have confessed so quickly. 
You were worrying about something else.” 

“No, no, Jack, the model was in my mind — 
a little, anyway. Come on, let’s get up. I’ve 
been awake a long time, waiting for you to 
turn out. Mr. Williams has been up nearly an 
hour. I heard his wife call him for breakfast. 
Come on, get a wiggle on, for I think I smell 
some good old fried clams. Um-m-m, ah — 
just think how they’ll taste,” said Ray, smack- 
ing his lips as he hopped out of bed and began 
to pull on his trousers. 

Jack tried to be equally agile, but when he 
bounded to the floor he let out a whoop of dis- 
tress, for it seemed as if every muscle in his 
body had been stretched out of shape. He was 
sore from his violent exercise of the night be- 


1 66 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


fore, and there were bumps and bruises all 
over him, not to mention a puffed-up lip which 
felt about thrice its natural size. 

“Jmiiny, but Lm stiff,” he grunted as he sat 
down on the edge of the bed and began to pull 
on his stockings. 

“I’m a little stiff myself,” confessed Ray, 
stretching his strong arms above his. head. “1 
had a fracas last night with one of those 
Frenchmen too, only I didn’t have to use a 
piano stool. I just lammed him good with my 
right hand. Say, but you did lay old Salmon 
Jack out for fair. Did you notice how wobbly 
he was when they took him into the lockup last 
night? And did you see that long lanky fel- 
low? Some one treated him mighty rough. 
He had two dandy shiners. I suppose they’ll 
all be brought before the Justice of the Peace 
to-day. If it wasn’t that Mr. Warner and the 
rest might be worrying over us, I’d like to 
stay.” 

“I wonder what they’ll do with ’em?” said 
Jack, crossing the room to the little old-fash- 
ioned mirror on the wall and smoothing his 
rumpled hair with a white comb he had found 
on the highboy in the corner. 


THE CHASE 


167 


“Why, Mr. Williams said that they would 
probably be taken to the County Seat and kept 
there until the County Court meets next month. 
Then they will likely be sent to jail for three or 
four years or even longer. I guess they’re a 
bad lot and the warden’s glad to get ’em under 
lock and key.” 

“Well, come on. Let’s get downstairs. 
I’m nearly famished, and besides Old Mitchell 
will be waiting for us. I suppose he’s won- 
dering now whether we’re going to sleep all 
day or not. The mist seems to have thinned 
out a little, but the sky looks mighty lowery, 
doesn’t it?” said Jack. 

“Yes, I guess we’re in for a spell o’ weather,” 
answered his companion. 

Ray’s sense of smell had not deceived him. 
There were clams for breakfast, great stacks 
of them, and hot biscuits and a pitcher of honey 
and still another of cream. And there were 
doughnuts, too, and coffee, and best of all the 
smiling face of Mrs. Williams and the genial 
countenance of the warden himself. He was 
already seated at the table, a big napkin tucked 
under his double chin, and Mrs. Williams, who 
was as tiny as her husband was ponderous, 


1 68 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

was heaping his plate with freshly fried clams. 

“Good morning, boys,” she said with a smile, 
but before they could reply, the warden’s deep 
voice boomed out: 

“Well, well, what do you fellers think this 
place is, one o’ those city houses that don’t 
wake up until nine o’clock? Jingonetties, why 
didn’t you sleep all day?” 

“There, there, Will, don’t scold them. Poor 
lads, they’re tired. Here sit down in this com- 
fortable chair. I’ll bring you some hot clams 
right away,” said Mrs. Williams, who was fond 
of pretending that her husband’s assumed 
gruffness frightened her when it really did not 
at all. 

Those clams were truly wonderful. They 
fairly melted in Jack’s mouth and the honey 
and cream was the best he had ever tasted. 
Indeed, Jack could scarcely remember ever hav- 
ing enjoyed a breakfast quite so thoroughly as 
he did the one arranged by Mrs. Williams. 
And as for Ray, well, he said absolutely noth- 
ing at all, but the way he devoured the savory 
brown morsels that the good lady set before 
him was quite the best compliment he could 
have offered her. The boys had the appetites 


THE CHASE 


169 


of young sharks, and since Mr. Williams was 
as busy as they at the same occupation, there 
was very little conversation. But the unfor- 
tunate part of a good meal is that one finally 
reaches the point where he can eat no more. 
Jack and Ray reached this period disappoint- 
ingly soon. They were forced to suspend ac- 
tivities for sheer lack of room. 

“Oh, what a good breakfast,” said Ray, with 
a sigh as he wiped his mouth on his napkin. 
“Shucks, I’m sorry I can’t stow away any 
more.” 

“So am I,” assured Jack as he let his belt out 
another hole. 

“Well, now that you’ve got a full cargo, how 
about goin’ over to the lock-up and havin’ a 
look at our friends of last night?” asked Mr. 
Williams, finding his hat and coat. 

“Well, no, I’m afraid we can’t, though we’d 
like to very much. You see, we’ve been away 
from Hood Island a day and a night and good- 
ness knows what Mr. Warner thinks has hap- 
pened to us. Then, besides, Old Mitchell is 
probably waiting for us. I think we’d better 
go right down to the wharf,” said Jack. 

“I’d rather get aboard the Betsy Anne. I 


i7o JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


think I’d feel better/’ said Ray, and his words 
seemed to have a peculiar meaning. 

“Well, all right, boys, go long. I’ll be over 
to Hood Island to see you before the Summer’s 
over,” said the warden as he shook hands and 
hurried out. 

Jack and Ray lingered long enough to say 
good-by to Mrs. Williams and thank the little 
woman for her kindness. Then they fared 
forth into the old-fashioned street in which 
Mr. Williams lived. The residential section 
of the Pool was up a gentle slope from the bay 
and some distance from the business section 
where the fish markets and stalls were located. 

This quarter of the community was quaintly 
aristocratic in appearance. The streets were 
lined with elms guarded by squared tree boxes 
and the houses were all surrounded by little 
lawns and flower gardens. In truth, the whole 
section had an atmosphere of the early Sixties, 
a fact which Jack remarked as the boys walked 
toward the waterfront. 

But soon they passed on into the busy part of 
the town where merchants and fishermen were 
dickering and bargaining over the morning’s 
catch and where women with baskets on their 


THE CHASE 


171 

arms were marketing and shippers were trad- 
ing for their daily consignments for Boston or 
New York. 

The little community seemed to Jack to be 
very lively and wide awake for a place of its 
size and he watched with eager interest the 
crowds of men who tramped up and down the 
narrow streets, their big sea boots making a 
tremendous thumping noise on the board side- 
walks. 

And presently as he was watching, there 
moved into his line of vision on the opposite 
side of the thoroughfare a ponderous man who 
was clad in a pea jacket, blue cap and heavy 
boots. His face was dark and weather-beaten 
and he wore a black beard which helped to 
give him a very stern appearance. Jack knew 
that he had seen him before and he groped 
about in his mind for a name to fit his coun- 
tenance. 

“Who is he?” he mused. “Where did I see 
him before? Where — ” 

“Say, Ray,” he said aloud, “who is that big 
man with a beard over there? See he’s look- 
ing this way now — why — why — What’s the 
matter, Ray?” 


172 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


Ray had looked, at Jack’s request, and the 
moment he set eyes upon the big man his face 
paled and he became thoroughly frightened. 

“Jack, that’s Uncle Vance,” he said in a 
husky whisper. “I wonder if he saw us. I 
was almost certain that was his yawl that 
nearly ran us down last night. That’s what I 
was worrying about this morning. Come on, 
let’s — Oh, Jack, he’s recognized me! Here 
he comes! Run! Run! Please run!” 

Jack gave one glance across the street again 
and saw the bearded giant headed for them 
at top speed and the look on his face was 
enough to make the boys run, whether they 
wanted to or not. Like a flash Jack turned, 
but Ray had already bolted and was twenty 
feet away and running like the wind. Up the 
center of the crowded street went the chase, 
Ray in the lead and Jack right at his heels, 
with the big man in full cry not thirty feet be- 
hind. 

Ray dodged into the first cross street he came 
to and this being comparatively free of pedes- 
trians he let out a burst of speed that astonished 
the young Vermonter, who was no slow runner 
himself. The lad from Drueryville had hard 


THE CHASE 


173 


work to keep up with his chum, and as he raced 
along at Ray's heels he could not help but pic- 
ture how Ray would look in moleskins with a 
football tucked under one arm, going across a 
gridiron at such a pace. 

But he had no time to conjure up such pic- 
tures, for presently Ray dodged around an- 
other corner into a street that ran parallel to 
the main street and led toward the wharves. 
Jack risked a glance backward at this point 
and saw that while they had not shaken the 
uncle off their tracks they were outdistancing 
him fast. 

“Hit it up faster and dodge once more, Ray, 
and we'll shake him," he panted to the young 
swordfisherman. And hit it up Ray did until 
Jack's legs fairly ached with the pace. Down 
to the docks ran the boys, upsetting a clam dig- 
ger with a basket on his head, and leaving 
chaos and a crowd of angry looking natives in 
their wake. 

But in a moment the lads reached the long 
dock at the end of which the Betsy Anne was 
moored. At a distance they could see Old 
Mitchell standing on the very end of the wharf, 
looking in their direction. And when he saw 


174 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

the boys racing down the pier at full speed his 
eyes grew round with wonder. 

Ray could not stop to explain, however: 

“Quick, Mitchell, quick! Get us aboard the 
Betsy Anne and get her out among the fishing 
boats so he can’t find us. Oh, please, please 
hurry.” 

“ ’Urry, is hit? ’Urry, wit blow me, hif I 
thought you lads wuz hin a ’urry, seeings ’ow 
I been a-waitin’ fer a ’our.” 

“Yes, yes, but we are in a hurry,” insisted 
Jack as he followed Ray down the ladder and 
into the cockpit of the Betsy Anne. 

“So are I,” said Mitchell, and after casting 
off the mooring he scrambled down on one foot. 
“So are I, fer I likes t’ go hout on t’ tide, I 
does.” 

Just where or when Ray’s uncle had given 
up the chase the boys could not tell, but in spite 
of the wide trail of angry men and women, and 
overturned carts the boys had left along the 
water front, Vance Carroll had evidently lost 
them. Leastwise, he did not put in his ap- 
pearance upon the long dock while the Betsy 
Anne was getting under way, for which Ray 
and Jack were truly thankful. 


THE CHASE 


175 


In ten minutes the little sloop, with Captain 
Eli’s green dory still trailing on behind, was 
scudding out toward the open sea, dodging 
through the fleet of fishing boats and walking 
away from every craft that tried to keep pace 
with her. And when the boys had finally re- 
gained their breath and were a little more at 
ease, they related to the old lobsterman their 
triumph in shaking the man whom Ray feared 
so much. 

But this triumph was short-lived, for even 
while they were telling their story Ray paused 
and shaded his eyes with his hands; for back 
there, far across the harbor, he had caught 
sight of the swordfisherman’s yawl. 

“Mr. Mitchell, have you got a glass? 
There’s his boat over yonder and I do believe 
they’re making sail on her. Say, do you sup- 
pose he’s found out that we are on the Betsy 
Anne and is getting ready to chase us? If 
he is, we’re lost, for the. Fish Hawk can 
overhaul anything that carries sail, seems to 
me.” 

“Huh, don’t be s’ sure o’ that, me ’arty,” 
said Old Mitchell indignantly. “T’ Betsy 
Hanne kin shake a leg ’erself. Which be t’ 


176 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


yawl ye want t’ know about. That one ower 
there ; way, way ower Tout a mile ?” 

“Yes, that’s it, over there in a line with that 
church steeple on shore. She’s — ” 

“Blow me hif she ain’t makin’ sail,” ex- 
claimed Mitchell. 

“Good night, Jack!” said Ray with a startled 
look. “Then it’s all up with me.” 

“Hup, say ye, hall hup. Huh, blime ’e hif 
t’ hole Betsy Hanne can’t make ’Ood Hisland 
afore that air wessel, seein’ a ’ow we got a 
mile start wi’ them, blime ’e I’ll sink ’er, that’s 
what I’ll do.” 

“Can you beat her, Mr. Mitchell? Can 
you?” asked Ray almost tearfully, putting his 
hand on the old man’s shoulder. 

“I’ll go fer t’ show ’e hif ye want me 
to,” said the lobsterman as he spat over the 
side. 

“Well, goodness help me if you don’t,” said 
Ray, “for if Uncle Vance ever gets his hands 
on me again he’ll certainly make me pay for 
running away.” 

“Why now, ’ow’s this ? T’is yer uncle ye’re 
a-runnin’ awi’ from?” queried Mitchell, as he 
shifted the tiller and took in about a foot of 


THE CHASE 


177 


the sheet, to make the mainsail draw better. 

“Yes, that’s who he is,” said Ray bitterly. 
“He’s my uncle and a fine uncle he’s been to 
me. Thrashed the life out of me as long as 
I’ve known him and made things generally mis- 
erable for me. Aw — hang it, I get so unhappy 
thinking about the way he treated me that I 
could almost be a baby over it, I guess,” said 
Ray, swallowing hard. 

“Tut, tut, don’t take hit s’ard, me lad; ye 
dont’ need t’ talk habout hit hif ’e don’t want 
t’,” said the kind-hearted old lobsterman as he 
cast a watchful eye aloft to see that there were 
no wrinkles in the peak. 

“I’m mighty glad I ran away from him,” said 
Ray, “though sometimes I worry over whether 
I did right or not. You see, he’s my only rela- 
tive and I’ve cut loose from him entirely. 
Folks says that when a lad shifts around with- 
out any grown folks to lean upon he’s liable to 
become a 'good-for-nothing/ as my uncle says. 
Yet, for all, I’ve been a heap more comfortable 
since I ran away from him,” he concluded dog- 
gedly. 

“’Ow came ’e fer t’ git on ’Ood Hisland?” 
queried Mitchell. 


178 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Why, I jumped overboard and swam 
ashore/’ said Ray. 

“And it was some swim/’ supplemented 
Jack enthusiastically. 

“Han’ ye crossed Vs bow t’ day over in 
Haustin’s Pool?” queried Mitchell, looking 
astern. 

“Yes, and we had to run like the dickens to 
shake him. Is his boat anywhere in sight — 
Gee, he’s following us all right? That’s his 
sail, way back there. Oh, Mr. Mitchell, please 
get us to the island first. I can’t go back with 
him. I can’t.” 

“Tut, tut, lad, we’ve a fly in’ start hon ’im, 
an’ hif we don’t out-run ’im, big as ’e is, wi— 
wi — well, we’ll do hit. An’ as fer you bein’ 
aferd o’ turnin’ hout a ‘good-for-nothin’ ’ es 
you say, wi’ I think as ’ow ’e might o’ become 
one o’ them air things hif ye’d stayed wi ’im. 
Floggins an’ rope hend ain’t good hif a feller 
gits ’em too hoften. Why, lads, look o’ me. I 
ain’t a ‘good-fer-nothin’,’ no more are I a lofer 
er a lobster pirut er a bloomin’ sea lawyer, an’ 
I ain’t ’ad no re-elatives t’ lean hupon since I 
was passin’ ten.” 

“Tell us about yourself,” said Jack, who had 


THE CHASE 


179 

always been curious to know the old seaman’s 
past. 

"Why, now they ain’t much t’ tell,” said the 
lobsterman, after his usual preliminary of spit- 
ting over the rail. "They ain’t much t’ tell, 
seem’ as ’ow when I was but knee ’igh t’ a 
water butt 'me daddy was lost wi’ a hull trawl- 
in’ crew hin t’ North Sea. Then I became 
an horphant an’ wi’hout one relative, .seein’ 
as ’ow me mother ’ad died when I was a 
toddler. 

"The folks as I was livin’ wi’ didn’t hexpect 
no more board money fer me as was paid by me 
daddy when ’e was alivin’ an’ they jest turned 
me hout t’ a free farm which ain’t no com’f’- 
table place fer a yonker. 

"Seein’ as ’ow things was as they was I 
hups an’ runs awi, sterin’ a course fer Lonnon. 
But on me wi I finds an’ hole salt, naime o’ Jem 
Banks, an’ ’e bein’ a ’arty hole salt as is hin 
t’ sarvice, ’e takes a likin’ o’ me an’ says, says 
’e, ‘ ’Ere, lad, they’re a needin’ of a cabin-boy 
aboard t’ Bull’ ark. Why don’t ’e come along 
o’ me an’ sign pipers?’ 

“ ‘Aye, aye,’ says I, bein’ by natcher a sailor. 
This ’ere tickles Jem Banks an’ ’e tikes me along 


180 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

of ’im an’ next thing ’ere I are cabin boy aboard 
the H.M.S. Bull’ ark.” 

“How long did you stay in the navy?” asked 
Ray. 

“Till I gits t’ be a real A.B. When I’m a 
lad habout twenty I tikes hit hin me ’ead t’ try 
an adwenture ’er two, so seein’ as ’ow I’d 
served me time I hups an’ leaves an’ ships 
aboard t’ Jenney Lee, what is a ship as is run- 
nin’ hof t’ bloccade hin Caroliney durin’ t’ 
Civil War. But we ain’t run ’em more’n 
twict when sinked we are be t’ U.S.S. New 
9 Ampshire an’ hin t’ fracus me laig’s shot hofif. 

“Well, now, they ain’t much more to tell, 
exceptin’ as ’ow I was taken pris’ner o’ war an’ 
such like an’ nigh got ’ung fer me bein’ a 
bloccade runner, hafter I comes hout of the 
’orspital wi’ me timber laig. Hafter t’ war 
I gets hup north ’ere ’mongst t’ fishermen, an’ 
drifted from one thing to t’other till ’ere I are 
’igh an’ dry hon ’Ood Hisland, makin’ of a 
fair livin’ wi’ me lobster pots, where I been 
t’ last twenty years.” 

“You certainly have had an interesting time 
of it,” said Jack enthusiastically. 


THE CHASE 181 

“I guess he has,” added Ray. “I wonder 
how m come out without my uncle or any one 
to — By George, I plum forgot we were run- 
ning away from him. Look, look, he’s picked 
up a lot. Oh, Mr. Mitchell, can we make the 
island ahead of him?” 

In truth, all three had forgotten the chase 
for the time and in the meanwhile the yawl had 
been gaining at every mile. 

“Blow me, hif I didn’t fergit haubot hit, too. 
My heye, but ’e’s got a sailboat fer ’e an’ a 
sailor at ’er wheel too. Come, shake a leg, 
Betsy Hanne. There’s t’ hisland ower there. 
Bout four miles t’ go. Ye gotta ’op along, me 
Betsy. An’ hit’s startin’ t’ rain an’ blow a 
little, hin t’ bargain.” 

From then on the boys were too much wor- 
ried about the swiftly flying yawl to think of 
conversation. Ray’s uncle had every inch of 
canvas set and the swift swordfisherman was 
plowing through the water at top speed. But 
the Betsy Anne was making time, too. With 
the wind off her port quarter and all sails set, 
she was heeling low and making the water boil 
under her sharp little bow. On and on she 


1 82 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


raced, dashing spray over her crew as she cut 
her way through the big seas that were being 
kicked up by the ever freshening wind. 

But in spite of the little boat’s good time, 
Old Mitchell was plainly worried over the out- 
come of the race. 

“Look ’ere, lads, even hif we do beat ’im to 
t’ hisland, ’ow are I t’ prewent yer uncle from 
cornin’ ’longside an’ shanghain’ o’ ye hoff 
aboard e’s own wessel what is such a nifty 
sailin’ one?” 

“Why — why — that’s right,” said Ray help- 
lessly. 

“Do the same as you did before, Ray,” said 
Jack. “I mean, let Mr. Mitchell run the Betsy 
Anne along the outside of the reef to the open- 
ing and then slip through. He won’t dare fol- 
low you then.” 

“That’s right. Can you put the Betsy Anne 
through that opening in Cobra Reef? You 
know the place I mean. About half way up to 
the lighthouse.” 

“I put ’er through every time I pays a call 
hon Cap’n Eli, which I admits ain’t been often 
o’ late,” said the lobsterman. 

“Good, then beat him to it and put her 


THE CHASE 


183 


through this time. He’ll never follow us ’cause 
he don’t know the channel and he’ll never land 
on that end of the island again, not after the 
lamming he got from Big O’Brien, will he, 
Jack?” 

“No, siree,” said Jack. 

“Aye, aye, sir, through t’ reef she goes,” 
said Mitchell. 

All attention was settled on the chase after 
that. The yawl had cut the distance between 
the two vessels down to half a mile and Hood 
Island was still two miles off. On sped the 
boats, the yawl breasting the waves in fine 
fashion and heeling over to what seemed a 
perilous angle. 

“He keeps canvas on the Fish Hawk” said 
Ray. “Wind’s fresh enough to stand a reef. 
Don’t you think so, Mr. Mitchell?” 

“ ’E kin take a reef hif ’e want, but not fer 
t’ Betsy Hanne ” said the old mariner. “My 
boat kin stand weather, she can.” 

Indeed, the Betsy Anne proved that she 
could, for her big mainsail was as tight as a 
drum and her jib as full. She was cutting the 
water like a knife and eating up the distance 
toward the island. 


i 84 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


Now they were abreast of the lower end and 
a mile off shore. The yawl was sliding down 
on the same tack but still a half mile off the 
Betsy's starboard quarter. 

“Neck and neck cried the skipper of the 
little craft. “Neck an’ neck wi’ a mile t ’ run 
before we strikes t’ reef. Hit’s a close race, 
me ’arties, for Vs cornin’ fast.” 

“Oh, make it please! We must! We 
must !” said Ray nervously as he looked toward 
his uncle’s boat. 

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the lobsterman and the 
next moment the Betsy Anne came about and 
started on the last reach toward the reef. 

The Fish Hawk came about a moment 
later and much to the chagrin of the boys she 
seemed but half the distance behind. 

“Jiminy, look at that boat come,” cried 
Jack, now thoroughly excited. 

“I should say she is coming,” said Ray, “and 
by gracious if she can beat us out on this 
stretch she can cut across our bow and head us 
off from the opening in the reef for she’ll be 
on our port side. Oh, make it, Mr. Mitchell, 
make it, for goodness’ sakes.” 

But Mitchell was all attention on the race 



“ Hit’s a close race, me ’arties, for ’e’s cornin’ fast.” 




























• 1 • 

















































































































































• • 
































THE CHASE 


185 

just then and did not even look at the lads. 
With cool calculating eye he measured the dis- 
tance between his boat and the yawl and the 
distance to the reef. For fully five minutes he 
was as silent as a stone image, then he said 
triumphantly : 

“Hif we keep hit up, boys, well crowd ’im 
hin s’close to t’ reef that ’ell be huncomTtable. 
Then Vll ’ave t’ come about and run astern 
o’ us, which will lose ’im a ’undred yards; 
either that er ’ell ’ave t’ run hus down, 
which ’e won’t do fer fear o’ stovin’ hup ’es 
own boat. We got ’im, lads, cause ’e won’t 
run werry close hin fer t’ water’s bilin’ hup on 
t’ rocks. Watch now. We’re edgin’ closer. 
See ’im, ’es narvous ! See ’im ! See ’im now ! 
Ain’t ’e figity! ’E gettin’ hin dost! ’As ’e 
got ’es nerve wi’ ’im? Nope — ’o — ’o — I knew 
hit — ’ere ’e comes about an’ on we goes a ’un- 
dred yards further. Hoorah!” 

True to the old man’s calculations, the little 
boat crowded the big boat out of the inside 
course. Ray’s uncle was afraid to venture as 
close to the ugly water as Mitchell sailed his 
boat and he was forced to come about and head 
across the wake of the Betsy Anne . But the 


1 86 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


lobsterman’s craft kept dead on for five min- 
utes longer and the yawl sheered off to keep 
from running her down. 

"Out-sailed, by George, out-sailed! Fll bet 
Uncle Vance is so mad he would sink us if he 
had to do it over again,” screamed Ray in de- 
light. The two boats had crossed so close to 
each other that he could see the bearded figure 
of his uncle at the wheel. Indeed, the old 
tyrant shook his fist at the lad and Ray grinned 
in return. 

The run up along the reef was made with the 
Betsy Anne on the inside and the Fish Hawk 
two hundred yards off the starboard quarter. 
But the swordfisherman could see that the race 
was lost and he was only keeping abreast while 
he thought of a new plan of action. But even 
while he was thinking it over the sloop came 
even with the break between the rocks and al- 
though the water raced through the opening at 
express speed and lashed the boulders on either 
side, Old Mitchell jammed down the helm, 
hauled in on his sheet and with a swish of can- 
vas and the creaking of blocks, the Betsy Anne 
came about and slipped through and into the 
comparatively smooth water inside. 


THE CHASE 


187 


‘Talk about a sailor!” cried Ray, as Mitchell 
headed the Betsy Anne north again toward 
the little beach. ‘Talk about a sailor! Why, 
there isn’t a man along the Maine coast who 
could have done it prettier, Mr. Mitchell.” 

“Tut, tut, hit hall comes o’ my known t’ wies 
o’ me Betsy Hanne, me boy,” said the lobster- 
man, but he was plainly pleased with the com- 
pliment. 

A few minutes later the little sloop came to 
anchor and the crew of three rowed to the 
beach in Captain Eli’s dory. And as the trio 
stepped ashore, Ray turned and gazed at the 
disappearing Fish Hawk. 

“Well, we beat you, Uncle Vance, and I hope 
I’ll never see your old boat again,” he said. 

But he little knew under what circumstances 
he would see his uncle’s vessel once more. 


CHAPTER XI 


ray's find 

F OR some time following their adventure 
with Warden Williams' lobster patrol and 
their subsequent chase by the Fish Hawk , Ray 
and Jack were kept rather busy about the con- 
struction camp, for the lighthouse builders 
were working at full speed and taking advan- 
tage of the excellent August weather. Mr. 
Warner was staying awake all hours of the 
night, working out construction problems in 
his little office, and of course the two lads had 
to keep his place in order and do a great deal 
of checking up after these sessions of activity. 

They paid daily visits to Cobra Head, also, 
to watch the progress of the work there, and 
during each of their visits they learned some- 
thing new about the problems of erecting a 
sea-swept lighthouse. In spite of the excellent 
weather that the workmen had been blessed 
with, it seemed to the two lads that they were 
1 88 


RAY’S FIND 


189 


making unusually slow progress. In truth, 
though they had been laboring a little more 
than six weeks there were but four courses of 
stone laid. Jack remarked about this to Mr. 
Warner on one occasion when the engineer had 
accompanied the boys to the rocks. 

“Huh,” said Mr. Warner, “if you think that 
is slow just look up the construction records 
made on other lighthouses and you will under- 
stand what slow work is. We’ve been par- 
ticularly fortunate here in being so well above 
the water. Why, there are some jobs where 
the tide and waves will only allow the men to 
work a few hours every month, and then they 
have to accomplish their task with one hand 
on a life-line, so to speak. 

“Look at the conditions that the workmen 
were forced to contend with while building 
Minot’s Ledge light, for instance. The old 
rock was but three feet out of water at the 
best tide and the engineers had to build a steel 
structure over the ledge and attach life-lines 
to it and station a lookout to watch for big 
waves. When the lookout saw a large one 
coming which he knew would curl over the 
rock he shouted a warning and every man 


igo JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


grabbed his life-line and threw himself flat 
upon the rock to keep from being washed over- 
board. They always worked in wet clothes 
and they were mighty lucky to have whole 
legs and arms after a wave had passed. Why, 
they didn’t get in but 130 hours’ work the first 
year and it took five whole years to build the 
beacon.” 

“Jiminy, that must have been some job,” 
said Jack. 

“You bet it was,” assured Mr. Warner. 
“Why, they had to think of all sorts of tricks 
to keep old Neptune from beating them. 
When they were building the foundation on 
the ledge, they had to brLig bags of sand out 
and construct veritable cofferdams about the 
spot that had been pared down to hold a build- 
ing block. Then every time they put cement 
onto a block to hold the next one in place they 
had to put cheese cloth over the cement to keep 
stray waves from sneaking up and licking the 
block clear before the new block could be put 
in place.” 

“Did they take the cheese cloth off before 
they put the next stone in position?” asked 
Ray. 


RAY’S FIND 


191 

“No, they let it stay. The cement oozed 
through the mesh of the cloth and gripped the 
block just the same,” said Mr. Warner. 

“Hum, that’s a queer wrinkle,” said Jack. 

“Well, we may do some of that work here 
the early part of the Fall when the tides run 
unusually high and the seas get to curling up 
on us. Yes, we’re mighty lucky in having the 
top of the Head so high above water. Also 
we have been fortunate so far as weather con- 
ditions are concerned. Goodness knows some 
lighthouse builders have had to fight storms 
almost all the time. Look at the crew that un- 
dertook to build the famous Tillemook light 
under Ballantyne. They fought the weather 
incessantly, and they even stuck to the rock 
during a blow that developed into a real tor- 
nado which smashed and carried away the 
storehouse in which their provisions were kept. 
It was several weeks before more provisions 
could be brought to them, and in the meantime 
all they had left was some hard bread and cof- 
fee and a little bacon. Those are conditions to 
work under, lads. Why, this is like dallying 
in the lap of luxury compared with Tillemook, 
Minot’s Ledge, Eddy stone and the rest of the 


i 9 2 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


difficult marine engineering stunts that have 
been undertaken.” 

“Lighthouses have to be mighty strong struc- 
tures, don’t they?” said Ray, who had been ex- 
amining the way the heavy stones were inter- 
locked, cemented, and then double fastened 
with iron “dogs.” 

“Strong? I should say so,” assured the en- 
gineer. “Why, some of them have to stand 
wind and waves that tear solid stone to pieces. 
I remember hearing once of a light over in 
England, or Ireland, rather, on the Fastnet 
Rock, the first light steamships sight on their 
way to England. In a storm a big section of 
the rock itself, three tons or more it weighed, 
was torn loose, but before it could fall into the 
sea, a second wave seized it and hurled it into 
the air squarely against the lighthouse tower 
on the top of the rock.” 

“Did the tower stand up under that?” ex- 
claimed Jack in wide-eyed amazement. 

“Yes, it did, and many another beating al- 
most as bad. Why, they say that storms are 
so heavy over there that the tower trembles 
and sways under the force of wind and water. 
Cups have been jarred from the table to the 


RAY’S FIND 


193 


floor, glasses knocked down and broken, and 
many other disagreeable things have happened. 
Yet the tower stood up under it all and still 
stands, although there has been a new tower 
erected since. I think that one of the famous 
Stevensons had something to do with it.” 

“Stevensons?” said Jack. “Oh, Fve heard 
of them. They were related to the author, 
Robert Louis Stevenson, weren’t they?” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Warner, “the author of 
Treasure Island came from a family of re- 
nowned lighthouse builders. There are many 
lights along the Scottish and English coast that 
stand as monuments to the skill of the author’s 
kinsmen. Among them are the Chicken Rock 
light on the Isle of Man and Skerryvore.” 

“Tell us, Mr. Warner, have many lights 
been swept away into the sea by storms?” 
asked Jack, as he and Ray started to climb into 
the little cable-car that carried them over the 
aerial railway back to shore. 

“Indeed, there have been many. Some have 
been swept away so completely that only a 
twisted steel bar or two remained to tell that 
a light once marked the spot. And always the 
keepers disappear with them for they are too 


i 9 4 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

brave to desert their posts even in the face of 
death. Take the fate of the keepers of the 
Grand Manan, which was located not so very 
far north of here. The light and men disap- 
peared in a storm and never were heard of 
again. The first Minot’s Ledge light in Bos- 
ton harbor went the same way and with it 
went the keepers too. Oh, yes, many a brave 
man has gone to his death in the Lighthouse 
Service.” 

Such little talks as these with the engineer 
and the workmen added interest to the boys’ 
life on the island and the days passed as if 
on wings. Captain Eli, the lighthouse keeper, 
also told them tales of the service and the lads 
spent many an hour in his company while he 
was on watch in the tower or off duty in his 
little cottage. Taking it all in all the boys 
were having quite a delightful time, and if it 
had not been for Ray’s periodical “blues” (as 
Jack called them) over his inability to fit an- 
other model of his non-sinkable lifeboat to- 
gether, neither lad would have had a single 
thing to complain about. 

As August wore on Ray’s blue spells oc- 
curred more often, however, for he realized 


RAY’S FIND 


195 


that in a few weeks or a month at best Jack 
would be leaving Hood Island to return to 
school, while he — well, he didn’t know exactly 
what he would do. From all appearances 
there would be no school for him, as much as 
he wanted to attend. Indeed, sometimes he 
grew quite beside himself with his unhappiness 
and it was all that Jack could do to change his 
frame of mind. 

His lonesomeness was emphasized fre- 
quently too when a lighthouse tender put in 
at the island to bring additional supplies and 
any mail that was meant for the working men. 
On every visit of the mail steamer Jack was 
almost certain to have from two to a dozen 
letters from his father and schoolboy friends 
who were scattered over the country during 
the vacation period. But the pleasure of re- 
ceiving letters was denied Ray simply because 
he had no friends and relatives in the outside 
world to communicate with him. 

Aside from the visits of the lighthouse ten- 
der no vessels touched at the island at all. 
The lads, almost daily, saw the trails of black 
smoke above the horizon, left by transatlantic 
steamers traveling the water lanes across the 


196 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


ocean, but usually these craft were hull down 
by the time they reached Hood Island. Fish- 
ing vessels bound for the banks were occasion- 
ally sighted also, and once in a while a stray 
swordfishing schooner or yawl would hover 
about the island for several hours in search 
of their elusive prey. 

Once or twice the lads also sighted the trim 
little Betsy Anne , Mitchell's boat, dancing on 
the waves far outside the reef. Since their 
adventurous two days with the timber-legged 
lobsterman the lads had always intended walk- 
ing across the island and locating his house, 
but nearly two weeks passed before they could 
find time to pay him a visit. 

And strangely enough, on the very day they 
had planned to cross the island (they had 
cleared up all their work and Mr. Warner had 
given them time off), the Betsy Anne came 
scudding up inside the reef, towing a dory. 
The small boat was piled high with lobster 
traps as was the cockpit of the little sloop, 
and the boys wondered what the old seaman 
was about. 

From the edge of the cliff they hailed him 
while he was yet some distance off. And when 


RAY’S FIND 


197 


he saw them standing there he hallooed back, 
and then quite suddenly brought the Betsy 
Anne up into the wind and waved to them to 
come down to the beach. 

When the boys had made their way down 
the winding path from the promontory to the 
sandy strip, the old lobsterman was waiting for 
them, having rowed ashore in his seemingly 
overloaded dory. 

“Why, blime me; blime me and blow me, say 
I, where about are you younkers been a-keeping 
of yersel’s ? Blow me an’ sink me, hif ’e ain’t 
t’ most onsociablest coves as ever was. Why’n’t 
’e ever come fer t’ see Hole Mitch, I axe ye?” 

“Why — well — you see — the truth is we were 
going to walk across the island some time to- 
day — truly we were — don’t grin like that as if 
you doubted us.” 

“I ain’t given’ for t’ doubt ’e, I ain’t. But 
seem’ as ’ow I spends most o’ my days an’ con- 
siderable o’ my nights a-tryin’ fer t’ make a 
livin’ I ain’t t’ ’ome much. Like es not ye’d 
never been findin’ o’ me ’ome hif ye ’ad a-come 
’crost. I’m hup at four, I are, and hout hin 
me hole Betsy Anne a-tendin’ o’ my traps ’till 
hits too dark fer t’ see.” 


198 jack straw, lighthouse builder 

“What are you doing up at this end of the 
island? I never saw you come up this way 
before,” said Jack. 

“Right an’ so, right an’ so. Never does I 
come hup ’ere fer t’ fish, me bein’ given t’ 
string my traps hout to t’ sow’east’ard. But 
lobsterin’ been s’ poor hin my usu’l wisinity 
that I guest I’d try hout a score o’ traps to t’ 
nor’west’ard, seein’ as ’ow t’ bottom’s likely 
hout there. I’m goin’ fer t’ try hout these ’ere 
traps. That’s where I’m bound. Want t’ ship 
hon this ’ere cruis’, lads?” 

“Do we? You bet we do. But — but, will 
that dory hold all of us? She’s loaded down 
now,” said Jack. 

“Tut, tut, them traps is light. Come along, 
we’ll make a day of hit, er we’ll make as much 
o’ a day of hit as t’ weather ’ll let us, fer she’s 
goin’ t’ blow some this a’ternoon,” said Old 
Mitchell, making a place for the lads in the 
dory. 

Presently the boys tumbled aboard the 
Betsy Anne and a few minutes later they were 
under way. Up along the island coast they 
sped, the tumultuous currents that slipped be- 
tween the reef and the land making the little 


RAY’S FIND 


199 


sloop dance and yaw in surprising manner. 
As they sped past the promontory and plunged 
tossing and pitching through the line of break- 
ers that marked the joining of the mill race of 
water with the ocean just off the point of the 
high promontory, Jack and Ray hallooed as 
loud as they could to the workmen on Cobra 
Head and waved a passing salute. Mr. War- 
ner was on the rock and when he saw the lob- 
sterman’s sloop go dancing by he took off his 
hat and waved a farewell to them. 

Beyond the breaker line were the long rolling 
ground swells of the broad Atlantic, over 
which the little craft scudded swiftly. Out, 
out, oceanward they raced, the boys thoroughly 
enjoying the sail. For two miles to the north- 
west Old Mitchell kept a straight course and 
watched the water with critical eye. Finally, 
after he had prefaced his remarks by spitting 
over the side, he said: 

“Well, ’ere’s es good a place es any fer t’ 
try a trap. ’Ow say ’e t’ puttin’ one ower t’ 
side ?” Then heading the sloop into the wind 
he examined one of the traps in the stern of 
the Betsy Anne, and after seeing that the little 
mesh bag inside the slat-like prison was well 


200 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


baited with dead fish he shoved it overboard. 
Two stones in the trap caused it to sink im- 
mediately and the lobsterman played out the 
warping line until he reached the point where 
a big stone jug was fastened. He examined 
the stopper in the jug to see that it was air- 
tight, then tossed this over too, and a little later 
the black and white buoy, to which the end 
of the line was fastened. This floated away 
from the sloop, bobbing and dancing in a fas- 
cinating manner. 

“There,” said Mitchell, “I 'opes as 'ow when 
I comes t' see 'e t-morrer er t' next day ye'll 
'ave a 'alf dozen o' t' biggest lobsters es ever 
was.” 

“We hope the same,” said Ray with a grin. 

“Thank 'e, lad, thank 'e,” said Mitchell. 
Then he added, “ 'Eavens knows I need 'em. 
This 'ere is t' sheddin' season and hits t' blim- 
dest time o' year ever fer hus lobster coves.” 

“Shedding season?” said Jack. “Do lob- 
sters shed their shells too? I thought only 
crabs did.” 

“They're t' sheddinest fish as ever was,” said 
the lobsterman. “I've 'ad 'em shed over night 
on me. Put a lot o' big uns in t' lobster car 


RAY’S FIND 


201 


one day an' when I comes t’ wisit ’em t’ next 
day there’s ’alf o’ ’em just crawled hout o’ their 
shells. An’ they ain’t no good arter they’re 
shed neither. Just es soft es putty.” 

“That’s mighty interesting,” said Jack. 
“Tell us something about lobsters, will you, 
Mr. Mitchell? How do they live? How fast 
do they grow? What do they — ?” 

“Tut, tut, not s’ fast, lad,” said Mitchefl, 
holding up his hand. “Lobsters is pecooliar 
fish, seein’ ’as ’ow their chise alius runs t’ livin 
on rock bottom. Ye’ll never find a lobster as 
is livin’ hin water wi’ a sand bottom. They 
eats most heverythin’ too; that is heverythin’ 
what’s dead. Mostly they eats dead fish, an’ 
t’ best bait fer ’em is flounders. That’s what 
I baits my traps wi’. They’re ’eathens too; 
jest reg’lar cannibuls. I’m meanin’, by that, 
hif I puts three or four lobsters as ain’t got a 
little wooden plug stuck hin their nippers, hin 
my car together, why the next mornin’ I finds 
that they’ve chawed each other up in fine shape. 
Bite each other t’ pieces jest like cannibuls does. 

“As fer growin’, why, lobsters grows habout 
a hinch er a hinch an’ a ’alf a year. When 
they sheds as ’ow I tol ye, why then t’ new 


202 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


shell as grows on 'em is habout a hinch too big 
for 'em ; like a pair o' daddy's pants as is on a 
younker. Durin' t' year their body grows an' 
fills hup t' hinch o' space, an' next Summer 
they're ready fer t' shed and grow another 
hinch. 

“When a lobster sheds 'e goes an' crawls 
down hin t* kelp an' lives there 'till 'es shell 
grows hon agin. If 'e didn't 'e'd get et hup 
by fishes as is lookin' fer soft lobsters. In 
Maine 'ere we can’t take no lobsters what ain't 
growed ten hinches long. Them’s called ‘coun- 
ters/ Nine hinch lobsters, what is sold in 
N'York and Bosting is called ‘Nippers' and lob- 
sters less 'en nine hinches is called just plain 
‘bugs.' An' hif a Maine cove as catches lob- 
sters 'as heny bugs hin 'es lobster car when 
Warden Williams come 'round 'e's liable fer 
t' get fined a dollar fer every one o’ ’em as is 
there." 

“Jiminy, is that so?" exclaimed Jack, 
who had been listening eagerly to all Mitchell 
had said. “How big do some lobsters 
grow?" 

“Well, lad, an huncommon lobster is one as 
is seven or height pound, though I did see one 


RAY’S FIND 


203 


as weighted twenty-seven pounds down Port- 
land wi' last time I went there. But when we 
gets a three or four pound lobster 'ere we don't 
raise no 'oiler habout bein' cheated," said the 
old salt dryly. 

“I think I remember reading somewhere 
about how, when a lobster loses a leg or a claw 
a new one begins to grow on immediately. Is 
that so?" asked Jack. 

“Right an' so lad, right an' so. I've ketched 
’em as 'ad one claw which is a big one and 
t'other which ain't 'alf as big, en I've seen big 
lobsters wi' a couple of little small legs as looks 
ri-dic'lus, too." 

“The Winter season is the best, isn't it, Mr. 
Mitchell?" said Ray. 

“T' best for ketchen 'em, but hit ain't t’ 
best weather t' be hout a-hauling hof t' traps. 
Why, lads, sometimes hits been s' cold as me 
nippers ud freeze fast t' me 'ands and many's 
t' time I've 'ad t’ hang me whiskers ower t' 
back o’ a chair near the fireplace when I got 
'ome so’s t’ git t' hice outen 'em." 

The mental picture of the old lobsterman 
sitting with his beard hanging over the back 
of the chair tickled the lads, and they roared 


204 JACK straw, lighthouse builder 


with laughter, much to the amusement of the 
one-legged fisherman. 

“Lobstering is mighty good sport though," 
said Ray. “I’ve been out with the fellows 
down Ascog way and had a heap of fun. The 
lobstermen down that way are bad ones though, 
and they are constantly getting into trouble 
with one another. They have regular feuds 
sometimes; the French Canadians and the 
Yankees. I remember Uncle Vance telling a 
story once of how one fellow planted a half 
dozen lobster traps near an island and then 
hid behind a rock until he saw one of his rivals, 
a French Canadian, haul one of his traps. He 
blazed away at him from shore with a rifle 
he'd taken out there, and the Frenchman shot 
back with a revolver. They had a hot time 
until the Frenchman got hit in the knee." 

“Them 'air Cannucks is t’ natchralest lob- 
ster piruts as ever was," said Mitchell with 
emphasis. 

Thus did the crew of the Betsy Anne chat as 
they sailed here and there in the water north 
of Hood Island while Old Mitchell dropped his 
twenty-odd lobster traps overboard. The lob- 
sterman explained, as he finished this task, 


RAY’S FIND 


205 


that these were merely by way of trying out 
the new location, and that if it proved a good 
fishing ground he would shift a hundred or 
more traps north of the island. This amount 
he said was about one-third of the total num- 
ber he owned. He also assured the lads that 
three hundred lobster traps were about as 
many as one could handle conveniently and 
that some lobstermen limited their string to 
half that number. 

By high noon the old sailor had deposited 
all of his traps and was headed back toward 
the island. Past the northern end they sailed 
and down the west coast. In the lee of the 
island the ocean was a great deal calmer, for 
the mighty currents that swept the other side 
did not reach them. The shore did not seem 
as rocky either, and sandy beaches were quite 
numerous. 

When they reached the extreme southern 
end the lads saw a large cove, and on the shore, 
above a short sandy beach, the neatest little 
cottage they had ever set eyes upon. 

“Wow,” said Jack, “what a corking little 
place. That must be your home, Mr. 
Mitchell.” 


206 jack straw, lighthouse builder 


“Right arT so, right an’ so. ’Tis t’ place I 
built me when I first came ’ere nigh onto 
twenty years ago. But we won’t stop now, 
lads, even though ’tis dinner time. Ye see I 
been heyein’ hof them air clouds off hin t’ 
nor’east there. Hits a settin’ fer t’ blow, an’ 
I want t’ git some bait afore t’ waves git s’ 
’igh es t’ make hit on’com’ft’bul fer t’ fish 
outen t’ hole Betsy Hcmne. I’m goin’ hoff that 
air strip o’ sand there where t’ flounders ’angs 
hout. Flounders is fish as likes t’ nose ’round 
hin t’ mud fer their food an’ they honly lives 
hon sandy bottoms. You, lads, kin ’andle a 
line er two fer me, can’t ’e? Then, arter we 
get hour bait we’ll go ’ome an’ git somethin’ t’ 
eat. ’Ow’s that strike ’e?” 

“Fine,” said Ray. 

“I’ll be ready for the eats,” assured Jack. 

For an hour the three in the Betsy Anne 
fished diligently. Each one handled two lines 
and was kept busy, for the flounders bit 
ravenously. But the fish were all small and it 
took a great many of them to fill the big box 
that Mitchell used to hold his trap bait. And 
in the meantime great gray storm clouds were 
gathering in the northeast and the wind was 


RAY’S FIND 


207 


becoming higher every minute. The long roll- 
ing swell changed to choppy seas that made the 
little sloop dance about like a cockleshell, and 
the lads had difficulty in attending to their lines 
and maintaining their places in the boat at the 
same time. 

Finally Old Mitchell announced that the seas 
were running a little too high for comfort, and 
since the bait box was nearly full he thought it 
best to up anchor and set sail for the cove 
where his cottage was located. This sugges- 
tion pleased both Jack and Ray for, to tell the 
truth, the bucking of the boat was getting 
really uncomfortable. Mitchell put his main 
sail up with a reef in it, which Ray helped him 
tie, and without a jib ran for the shelter of the 
little harbor in front of the cottage. 

Inside the cove the wind seemed less fierce 
and the water less violent, and in a few mo- 
ments the Betsy Anne reached the square 
mooring buoy to which she was fastened. It 
took but a few moments to make the little craft 
snug in her berth with her sails furled, and 
after this operation Mitchell and the lads 
rowed ashore in the dory. 

Although the wind was blowing hard and 


208 jack straw, lighthouse builder 


rain occasionally spattered down, the lads 
found time to pause and admire the cottage and 
its surroundings before accepting Mitchell’s 
invitation to enter. 

The old mariner had spent a great deal of 
time and labor about the place, from all ap- 
pearances. There was a little dooryard in 
which had been cultivated the tiniest lawn the 
boys had ever seen. In the center of this 
was an old dory with bulging sides. This had 
been filled with earth and converted into a big 
flower box and over the gunwale flowers and 
trailing vines dangled in profusion. The cot- 
tage itself was painted white and looked 
unusually inviting, considering the present 
weather conditions. 

Old Mitchell led the way into his little dwell- 
ing and immediately set about preparing a din- 
ner from his well-stocked pantry shelves, 
while the boys inspected his quarters. There 
were but two rooms to the cottage, the largest 
of which was kitchen, dining-room and living- 
room all in one. But, though the apartment 
served these many purposes, it was scrupu- 
lously clean, and resembled very much Captain 
Eli’s cottage over at the lighthouse. 


RAY’S FIND 


209 


It was apparent from the first that the place 
was the dwelling of a seafaring man, for 
painted yellow canvas covered the floor and 
marine prints hung about the wall. There was 
a picture of Farragut’s fleet in action, with the 
intrepid commander clinging to the rigging as 
he was supposed to have done during most of 
his battles. Then there was a picture of the 
burning of the frigate Golden Horn , a print of 
the Shannon bringing the Chesapeake into 
Halifax Harbor and a score of other decora- 
tions of a similar nature. 

But the section of the wall above the chim- 
neypiece was the most interesting to the boys, 
for over the shining stovepipe hung a great 
old-fashioned cutlass with its brass hand-guard 
and its black leather scabbard, and there too 
was Mitchell's famous old “barker” sticking 
from its holster. Besides these, a dirk and 
several vicious-looking knives which the old 
salt had gathered in the “Inges” were made to 
serve a decorative purpose. 

On the right hand side of the mantelpiece 
itself was a model of a full-rigged ship bear- 
ing in gilt letters the name “H.M.S. Bulwark 
The tiny little craft looked very majestic with 


210 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

all her sails set, and the boys were attracted 
to it immediately. And to balance this on the 
other side of the mantel was another craft of 
very strange appearance. In fact, it was of 
such a peculiar design that Jack was at a loss 
to know just what to make of it when he saw it. 
But the moment Ray caught sight of it he gave 
a loud cry of delight. 

“Jack, Jack, look. Jove, there’s my model; 
my lifeboat, all safe and sound. Oh, Mr. 
Mitchell, where did you get it? By George, 
can it really be mine? How — where — ?” 

“ ’Ere, ’ere, what ’er ye jabberin’ habout,” 
exclaimed Mitchell, who was cramming an 
armful of wood into the stove preparatory to 
making coffee. 

“Why that, that over there — the model — 
the little boat. Where did you get it? It’s 
mine, mine. I made it. Oh, Mr. Mitchell, 
how did you ever get hold of it?” cried the de- 
lighted youth as he rushed across the room and 
took the metal boat down from the pedestal 
Mitchell had made for it. 

“That air punkin seed — that air tin kettle 
o’ a wessel; is that what ye’re a-meanin’? 
Why now, blime ’e, ye say hit’s yours? Well, 


RAY’S FIND 


21 1 


mebby His. Mebby His, seein’ as ’ow hit ain't 
mine ’ceptin’ by right o' salvage, which I ain’t 
claimin’ hif His yours. ’Ere’s a go fer ’e, ain’t 
hit?” said the old fisherman as he scratched his 
head in perplexity. 

“Salvage? Do you mean you picked it up 
in the water?” 

“Right an’ so, lad, right an’ so. ’Ere I war 
hout a-te,ndin’ of me traps one day when this 
’ere thing comes a-bobbin’ an’ a skippin’ ower 
t’ water, lookin’ queerer ’n all git hout. Says 
I t’ myself, says I, ‘ ’Ere’s a strange craft, 
Mitchell, what ain’t got no owner aboard ; why 
fer don’t ’e inwestigate hit.’ So I hup an’ 
salwages hit and blime me hif she ain’t t’ 
queerest looking wessel as ever I sot heyes on. 
Says I t’ myself, says I, 'Now, hif this ain’t t’ 
most pecooler tin punkin seed as ever I clapped 
heyes hon, I’ll eat hit.’ An’ seein’ as ’ow she 
war s’ queer I tikes ’er hinto port an’ stows ’er 
hup longside o’ t’ hole Bulwark , I does.” 

“Say, but that’s funny. Here I’ve been 
longing for this all Summer and it’s been right 
on the same island with me,” said Ray as he 
turned the model over and over. 

“ ’Ow’s that ?” said Mitchell, as he stopped 


212 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


in the act of putting the dishes on the table 
and listened. 

“Why, you see the Uncle I ran into over at 
Austin’s Pool a few weeks ago — you know the 
one who owned the Fish Hawk and — ” 

“T’ feller as was sech a good sailor as we 
outsailed, ye mean?” asked Mitchell with a 
grin, taking a big brown pie from the pantry 
in one corner of the room. 

“Yes, he’s t’ one. I told you that he had 
always treated me mean. Well, you see, he 
always thought I was lazy and he was bound 
he’d flog it out of me. He called me lazy be- 
cause I always wanted to potter around with 
new ideas and new inventions. He never be- 
lieved in anything that was progressive. All 
he knew was hard work, wouldn’t send me to 
school, wouldn’t help me with anything; just 
made me work like sin. Treated me down- 
right nasty. 

“Keeping me from school was what worried 
me more than anything else, though. I wanted 
to go to high school mighty badly because I 
hoped some day to go to college and study en- 
gineering. 

“Well, I knew the only way I could ever get 


RAY’S FIND 


213 


to school was to earn enough money all in a 
lump to pay my way. About that time the 
Titanic ran into an iceberg up off the banks 
somewhere ; you remember the time, don’t you ? 
Well, I got an idea out of that. Why not try 
to invent an absolutely safe lifeboat that could 
not sink or capsize? The idea was a corker 
and I set to work on it. And, by jingoes, when 
I got my model finished if my uncle didn’t get 
hold of it and throw it overboard and flog 
me besides. That’s what made me run away 
from him.” 

“Well, blow me, hif ye didn’t make a life- 
boat what won’t sink ner capsize, fer that air 
wessel war right side hup and warn’t leakin’ 
neither when I got hit,” said Mitchell. 

“Oh, you don’t know how tickled I am. I 
was sure it would work. I knew I had the 
right idea,” said Ray as he fondled the little 
craft. 

“Right an’ so, lad, right an’ so; but look ’ere, 
hif ye stand there ravin’ habout yer boat ye 
won’t git anythin’ t’ eat. Las’ call fer din- 
ner, fellers. Hits on t’ tible,” said the old sea- 
man, drawing up the chairs, 


CHAPTER XII 

THE REEF'S TOLL 

T HAT dinner was one of the best the lads 
had ever eaten, it seemed to them. In- 
deed, Jack forgot about the howling of the 
wind and the spattering of the rain outside, 
and Ray even ceased talking of his precious 
model, so intent were they both on satisfying 
their ravenous appetites. There were sizzling 
hot flounders, the finest flapjacks that ever 
were cooked, cold boiled lobster, fine homemade 
bread, steaming coffee and a generous apple 
pie, which Jack assured the lobsterman was 
quite the best of its kind he had ever tasted. 

The old seaman took as much pride in his 
cooking as any housewife and it pleased him to 
watch the lads "git a full cargo,” as he ex- 
pressed it. In fact, he urged them to eat more, 
even after they had announced that they could 
not possibly hold another morsel, and finally 
?I 4 



‘The finest flapjacks that ever were cooked.” 




THE REEFS TOLL 215 

the boys simply had to push back their chairs 
and cry “enough.” 

It was fully half-past three when the dishes 
were cleared away and washed, and by 
that time the storm outside had worked up to a 
furious pitch. The wind whistled about the 
little cottage and down the chimney, blowing 
great quantities of smoke into the room from 
the wood fire that Mitchell kept burning to heat 
his dish water. The rain was coming down 
harder now, and spattering against the win- 
dow panes so furiously that Jack had difficulty 
in seeing out across the cove in which the Betsy 
Anne and Mitchell’s dories were moored. 

“Say, Ray, this is a real storm,” he said to 
his young chum. “How on earth are we to get 
back to the lighthouse? We can’t go by way 
of the Betsy Anne. I’d never take a chance 
in any boat to-day no matter how seaworthy 
she is.” 

“Right an’ so, right an’ so, lad,” said the old 
lobsterman as he took a squint at the weather 
through the front window. “An’ ’e needn’t 
be a fearin’ as I’d ask ’e to. Hit ud take a 
’ull lot of coaxin’ for t’ git me t’ take t’ Betsy 
Hanne hout hin weather like this ’ere even 


216 jack straw, lighthouse builder 


though she’s t’ safest boat fer ’er size as ever 
was. But must ’e go back t’day? Can’t ’e 
stiy ’ere for t’ night, mebby ?” 

“Goodness, no. You remember how we got 
a scolding for staying away over night at 
Austin’s Pool, don’t you, Ray? Poor Mr. 
Warner and Big O’Brien were worried to 
death. Thought we’d been drowned, sure 
enough. And he saw us go out in a sailboat 
this morning too. Jiminy, I’ll bet they think 
we were caught in this storm. They will sure 
decide we are goners, if we don’t show up to- 
night. We must get to the lighthouse, Ray. 
Don’t you agree with me?” 

“Yes,” said Ray firmly, “Mr. Warner has 
been mighty good to both of us and I 
don’t think we should cause him any more 
worry than necessary. I was sorry that we 
made it so unpleasant by staying at French- 
man’s Point last time. We must get back to 
the lighthouse. We can walk across the is- 
land. I don’t mind getting wet, do you ? 
That’s about the worst that can happen to us.” 

“Jest so, jest so,” said Mitchell with a pleased 
smile. “I think as ’ow yer two boys ’as got 
common sense and a bit o’ feelin’ fer t’ other 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


217 


feller. Glad t’ ’ear ye speak es ye do. Go, by 
hall means, an’ hif ye’ll take my advice ye’ll 
start mighty soon fer there’s no tellin’ as t’ 
’ow long hit’ll tike ’e. An’ hif ye’re hout there 
when night comes on — well hin t’ dark ye 
might stumble over a cliff peraps er — er — . 
Say, look ’ere, lads, I’ll go along wi’ ye. I 
don’t mind gettin’ wet an’ besides I got ’ilers 
an’ a so’wester. I’ll go long wi’ ye t’ show ’e 
t’ wi, seein’ as ’ow ye never walked crost t’ 
hisland yit.” 

“Great,” cried Jack. 

“Finest ever,” said Ray, and the old seaman 
looked delighted at their manifestations of 
pleasure. 

“Hall right, me ’arties, we’ll start right awiy. 
You lads, just wait till I git on me ilers an’ 
I’ll go out hin t’ boat ’ouse an’ look hup some 
old duds as I got stowed awi there agin jist 
sech an adwersity.” And presently the lob- 
sterman donned his oilskins and plunged out 
into the storm. 

A few moments later he stumped into the 
room again, puffing like a grampus and drip- 
ping wet. In his arms he clutched a bundle 
of weatherworn oilskins. 


218 jack straw, lighthouse builder 

“Phew, blime ’e hif hit ain’t minin’, ” said he 
as he deposited the bundle of clothing on the 
floor. “ ’Ere’s a lot o’ cast-hoffs as I’ve ’ad a 
’angin’ hin t’ boat ’ouse fer this long time. 
Some o’ ’em is putty much worn, but they’ll 
shed water in spots henywi’. Sort ’em hout, 
lads.” 

Jack and Ray began rummaging through the 
bundle of yellowish gray garments and in no 
time they were decked out in weatherproof 
clothes. Of course they wore their regular 
clothing underneath, as did Old Mitchell, but 
even at that the lobsterman’s cast-offs were far 
too large for them. 

“Some fit,” said Jack as he waved a far too 
long sleeve in the air. 

“Huh, two of us could get into this jacket, 
but just the same I’m glad to have ’em. I’m 
ready to start — how about you ?” said Ray, as 
he gathered his precious model up under his 
arms and started for the door. Jack followed 
him and the lobsterman, after a glance about 
the cottage and a last poke at the dying fire 
in the stove, followed the two boys. 

The moment they emerged, the lads had to 
brace themselves to keep from being blown 


THE REEFS TOLL 


219 


down. The wind swooped around the corner 
of the little cottage and tore at their garments 
madly, while the big raindrops beat into their 
faces. 

“Jiminy, some storm, : ” growled Ray as he 
forced his so’wester down over his eyes. 

“Hit’s blowin’ some ’at,” assured the lobster- 
man as he pulled his collar up higher and 
stumped forward in the lead of the little 
party. 

Jack was on the point of making an appro- 
priate remark also, but the wind snatched the 
words from between his teeth, it seemed, and 
he decided after that to conserve his energies 
for the fight against the storm. 

Mitchell apparently followed some sort of a 
path through the forest that clad the top of the 
island, for he wound his way in and out among 
the trees in a peculiar manner. But if there 
was a path, the boys could not detect it. All 
they did was follow the one-legged old man 
who silently fought his way against the wind. 
Although the pine trees were many and their 
foliage thick, the wind seemed just as strong 
in the woods as out in the little opening around 
the lobsterman’s cottage. It blew a veritable 


220 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


hurricane, it seemed to Jack, and the tall trees 
bent and swayed in a most awe-inspiring man- 
ner. In truth, branches were literally torn 
from some of them and here and there the lads 
found a big timber that had been uprooted and 
flung aside by the elements exactly as if it had 
been no heavier than a clump of bay berry 
bushes. 

On through this wind-lashed forest they 
plodded, watching constantly to keep out of 
harm’s way for they realized that to be in the 
path of one of the falling trees would be the 
end of them. On and on they forced their 
way, backs bent and faces shielded as much as 
possible against the stinging rain. Minutes 
seemed like hours and hours eternal, so slow 
was their progress. How long they fought the 
elements the boys could not guess, but gradually 
as they worked their way across the island a 
new note was added to the terrible growl of 
the storm and it gave the lads a better idea of 
their location. It was the boom of the break- 
ers upon Cobra Reef. 

They were nearing the ocean side of the is- 
land now. Jack began to detect familiar sec- 
tions of the woods, in spite of the storm. He 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


221 


also knew that they were approaching the top 
of the promontory upon which the lighthouse 
was located, for they had begun to climb a 
rather steep slope. On they toiled, their way 
growing harder as they advanced, until sud- 
denly they were struck by a gust of wind that 
almost hurled them off their feet. Then Jack 
knew that they had left the forest and entered 
the clearing about the construction camp. 

Past the blacksmith shop and the bunk-house 
they trudged, until they came to the long mess- 
hall. Along the lee wall of this building they 
made their way until they came to the path 
that led to the lighthouse. Here they paused 
and before leaving the shelter of the building, 
took a survey of the situation. 

And as Jack looked toward the beacon he 
caught sight of a big group of men huddled in 
the shelter of the pile of granite blocks near 
the steel tower of the cable-way. There must 
have been fifty or more in the crowd and all 
were dressed in oilskins or overcoats. 

“Look, there's the whole camp. What's 
wrong? What's going on out there? Some- 
thing's happened on the rock, I'll bet. They 
are looking out to sea!" 


222 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


“Sure enough. What do you suppose is the 
matter ?” exclaimed Ray, as he too caught sight 
of the men. 

“Matter! matter! Why noo, lad, hit could 
be somethin’s wrong on Cobra ’Ead, but t’ my 
judgment hits like as not a wessel what’s cornin’ 
ashore, like es ’ow t’ schooner Jessie Joy did 
two years back. She came ashore down t’ 
sow’east hend o’ t’ hisland an’ was lifted ower 
t’ reef an’ thirty feet hup onto t’ rocks an’ 
smashed t’ kindlin’ afore ’e could say scat. 
Yes-siree, not a man ner a stick as was saved 
an’ — ” 

“Jiminy, do you suppose it’s a wreck?” 
shouted Jack. Then pulling his hat down over 
his eyes he shouted: 

“Come on!” 

And in a moment all three were fighting 
their way up the slope toward the men in the 
lee of the stone pile. 

So loud was the roar of the storm and boom 
of the surf and so intent were the men on 
whatever they were watching out at sea that 
none of them heard the three arrive. Indeed, 
they did not know of the lads’ presence until 
Jack stopped alongside of Mr. Warner, who 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


223 


was on the outside of the group, and clutched 
his arm. 

“Why, Jack, thank goodness you’re here — 
and here’s Ray, too. We thought sure you had 
been caught in this storm. All safe? Good. 
And here’s Mr. Mitchell again. Brought ’em 
safely back once more, just as you did from 
Frenchman’s Point. Fine — we were getting 
worried but — ” 

“What’s going on, anyway? What’s the 
trouble?” interrupted Jack, who had been peer- 
ing out into the storm. 

“What’s the matter? Why there’s a vessel 
out there fighting its last fight, I guess, and try- 
ing to keep off the reef. Storm’s a little too 
thick now. When it quiets for a few moments 
you’ll be able to see her. Both masts are gone 
and — There, there! See her! Look quick 
before the storm shuts in again!” 

The lads looked and, sure enough, out be- 
yond the reef they saw the battered hulk of a 
vessel being tossed about on the big waves like 
a cork. Only two stumps remained of the 
masts and the wreckage of sails and spars 
dragged over the sides and into the sea. The 
bowsprit had been snapped, too, but on the 


224 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


stump of what remained was the little pulpit- 
iike \affair that characterized the vessel as a 
swordfisherman. 

“Why she’s a swordfisherman,” exclaimed 
Jack. 

“Right, by George, I hadn’t discovered that 
before, and she looks mighty familiar in — ” 

“Good lands, it’s the Fish Hawk ” cried Ray 
in distressed tones. “It’s Uncle Vance and 
his crew. I — I — by hookey, he’s in a tight fix, 
too. I guess it’s all up with him now! He’ll 
be on the reef sure! Nothing to give him 
steerage way! He’s helpless!” 

“By George, it is your uncle, Ray. And he 
sure is up against it, too. There’s nothing we 
can do either,” said Mr. Warner unhappily. 
“He’s too far out for us to get a line to him. 
We have the cannon out. It’s tucked under 
the stone pile here. We’re trying to keep it 
dry. Maybe if he comes on to the reef and the 
ship holds together long enough we can get a 
breeches-buoy rigged. But it looks to me as 
if the Fish Hawk will go to pieces the moment 
it hits that line of rocks. Look at those break- 
ers pile up! Did you ever see anything like 
it? A battleship couldn’t stand up under the 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


225 


pounding those waves would give her. Every- 
thing has been washed off Cobra Head except 
the lighthouse foundation stones. The cable- 
way tower is bent and crippled and all the der- 
ricks are gone. So are the tool boxes and all 
the tools. We’re in a bad way out there. It 
will take us two weeks to recover from this 
storm.” 

In truth, the jagged reef with the Cobra’s 
Head at the end was terrible to look upon. 
Waves thirty feet in height were hurling them- 
selves against the rugged granite boulders, as 
if seeking to drive the stony barrier deep into 
the ocean. But the reef resisted the on- 
slaughts and great towers of water shot aloft 
as the breakers burst with a hiss and a roar 
against the immovable stone. Jack realized 
the terrible crushing power behind the tons of 
water, and he knew that there was little hope 
of the Fish Hawk staying whole once she 
grounded on the reef. 

Close and closer to its terrible fate drove 
the helpless yawl while the men on the cliff 
looked on in grim silence. Sometimes the rain 
came down so hard and fast that the doomed 
vessel was shut from view. But each time 


226 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


the storm abated they could see that the sturdy 
little craft had been driven nearer to the hor- 
rible end that awaited it. 

Yet with the fight almost lost the swordfish- 
ermen had not surrendered. Both Jack and 
Ray could see a man still clinging to the wheel 
while several others crawled about the careen- 
ing decks and sought to build a jury rig on the 
stump of the foremast. With but a few square 
feet of canvas to give the vessel steerage way, 
there was still the barest chance of saving her. 
But no human beings could hope to work the 
battered little craft in such an angry sea. Any 
moment one of the ugly waves that swept the 
decks might catch them off guard and sweep 
them over the side like so many match 
sticks. 

Jack, and every other man on the promon- 
tory for that matter, stood spellbound. Here 
before their very eyes were a dozen human 
beings going to certain death and no power on 
earth could stop them. It was appalling. 
Jack shuddered. 

“Oh, can’t something be done? Can’t we 
get a line to them?” he asked, clutching Mr. 
Warner’s arm. 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


227 


“1’m afraid not, son,” said Mr. Warner, 
choking with emotion. “It's terrible, but we’re 
powerless. They are too far off. We’ll have 
to wait until they strike and then perhaps we 
may be able to do something.” 

“Poor Uncle Vance. I feel mighty sorry 
for him. And Bannerman too, poor fellow, 
and Mack and Duncan. Heaven help ’em. 
It’s the end of ’em all,” cried Ray as he watched 
the storm-tossed Fish Haivk drive toward her 
doom. 

She was only fifty feet off the reef now — one 
wave length separated her from eternity. The 
angry water swirled about her. Great clots 
of spume were hurled at her by the lashing 
wind, and white water washed her deck from 
end to end. 

“Oh, it’s terrible, terrible !” sobbed Ray. 
“If we could only help ’em. If — look, look! 
They’ll strike. That big wave was too much 
for ’em! The next wave will do it! There 
they go — they’re on the reef — no, no, they 
sheered off — they didn’t strike — but — but — 
Oh ! Great goodness, look — look — it’s hor- 
rible!” 

Crash ! 


228 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

A great wave had seized the helpless vessel, 
lifted it high aloft and hurled it down across 
the jagged rocks. The sound of rending tim- 
bers could be heard even above the roar of the 
storm. The Fish Hawk had been cut com- 
pletely in half by the granite ridge and in a 
fraction of a second the hull of the yawl had 
been shattered to kindlings. Only a mass of 
wave-tossed wreckage marked the place where 
it had foundered. 

For a moment the men on the promontory 
seemed stunned by the hideous sight they had 
witnessed. Then as they realized that the ves- 
sel and the men had been blotted from existence 
entirely, several of them groaned aloud and 
turned away. But the next instant they were 
startled by a cry. 

“Look! Look! Jack, O’Brien, look, there’s 
a head, there’s a man, two of ’em, three of ’em 
inside the reef; struggling; swimming. They 
are trying for the beach. Come on, we’ll save 
’em. Come !” Ray bounded down the crooked 
path that led to the narrow strip of beach and 
Jack and Big O’Brien followed him, with the 
rest of the men trailing out behind. Even Old 
Mitchell stumped down the path, although he 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


229 


could not keep pace with the rest of the 
party. 

Ray reached the sandy strip first and be- 
gan tugging at one of the two whaleboats 
which had been tossed high and dry on the 
beach by the storm. Others rushed to help 
him, some manning the boat while others tried 
to launch it. And meanwhile off toward the 
reef the three men struggled desperately. On 
they swam, battling with the stubborn, though 
not so violent, waves inside. Sometimes their 
heads were above the water and sometimes 
great curling white caps dashed over them and 
forced them under, but they were fighting for 
their lives and they meant to keep afloat until 
aid arrived. 

Slowly but surely the horde of lighthouse 
builders forced the heavy whaleboat, loaded 
with the rescue party, toward the water. Inch 
by inch, foot by foot until at last one of the 
curling waves reached under its bow and gave 
them assistance. Another wave and it was 
launched. Then in a twinkle a dozen oars 
were shipped and the boat was under way. 
Ray was in the bow, looking anxiously out to- 
ward the struggling swimmers, and Jack was 


2 3 o JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

in the stern beside Big O'Brien, who clutched 
the tiller. 

Under the strokes of the brawny laborers 
the heavy boat shot forward, bow on, into the 
angry seas that curled shoreward. But for all 
the strength behind those hickory timbers and 
all the sturdiness of the vessel's oaken sides, 
it was a question whether it could live in even 
the seas behind the reef. It tossed about like 
an eggshell and the angry waves clutched at 
either side and pulled it here and there in spite 
of the efforts of the rowers. 

But slowly they urged her forward toward 
the swimmers. On and on it forged, each 
stroke cutting down the distance between the 
fighting fishermen and their rescuers. They 
were fifty feet away, now forty, now thirty! 
Only a little way farther. Only a few strokes 
more ! 

“Pull! Pull!” cried Ray from the bow. 
“Here's one! Pull! It's Duncan, good old 
Duncan — he's all in! Pull! Whoope-e-e — ! 
Saved!” 

Ray reached over the side and seized the all 
but unconscious man, and with what appeared 
to be a superhuman effort, hauled him into the 


THE REEF’S TOLL 


231 


boat and let him fall into a limp, soggy mass 
in the bottom, just behind the forward oars- 
man. 

“Pull! Pull! Don't stop — here's another. 
It's Beck — Beck Crawford. We've got to 
save him! He has a wife and some kiddies! 
Pull! Pull! Here! Some one help me! I 
can't lift him ! Come quick !" 

The forward oarsman dropped his blade and 
climbing to Ray's side helped to drag Beck 
aboard. 

“All right! Keep it up! Here's another! 
It's — it's — oh, it's Uncle Vance. Pull! 
Pull! He's sinking, he’s sink — I've got 
him! Help me here! Heave-o! Good!" 

Then as Ray laid the limp form in the bot- 
tom of the boat with the others, he said with a 
peculiar catch in his voice: 

“Poor Uncle Vance, he looks like he’s most 
dead." 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE NEW FULL-BACK 

F OR three days Beck, Duncan and Ray’s 
Uncle Vance were in a precarious state. 
The men had spent most of their energy in 
battling for their lives after the wreck of the 
Fish Hawk and it was very fortunate that 
they possessed the fine strong bodies they did 
or they would never have rallied at all. In 
truth, all three were taken from the whaleboat 
more dead than alive, and when they were 
carried up to the lighthouse Captain Eli was 
almost certain that none would live over night. 

The three rooms in Captain Eli's cottage 
were devoted to hospital purposes and Jack and 
Ray and Mr. Warner shared the bunk-house 
with the rest of the crew for the time. Old 
Mitchell, the lobsterman, and Captain Eli took 
turns as physician and nurse to the unfortunate 
swordfishermen and worked diligently to re- 
store them to normal health. Daily Jack and 
232 


THE NEW FULL-BACK 


233 


either Mr. Warner or Big O’Brien visited the 
cottage to learn how the patients fared, and on 
several occasions they entered the sickrooms 
and tried to cheer up the men. But Ray, for 
reasons of his own, would not accompany them. 

Indeed, since the day he saved his uncle from 
drowning Ray had been acting very peculiarly. 
He seemed undetermined what to do and Jack 
and Mr. Warner could not help sympathiz- 
ing with him. Somehow, seeing his uncle close 
to the point of death, had made the lad forgive 
him for his past brutality. In truth, his heart 
had softened to the point where he would have 
been quite willing to do anything he could for 
the old swordfisherman. But though his in- 
tentions were good, he was quite timid in carry- 
ing them out, for, as he explained to Jack, 
he was not sure how his kinsman would re- 
ceive him. For that reason he refrained from 
going near his uncle’s bedside or communicat- 
ing with him in any way. He satisfied him- 
self by visting the cottage occasionally and 
inquiring from Mitchell or Captain Eli as to 
the state of his uncle’s health. 

The lightkeeper and the fisherman proved 
efficient physicians, however, for they rallied 


234 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


the men gradually and by the end of the week 
had them so that they could hobble downstairs 
and sit out in front of the cottage in the sun- 
shine. Duncan and Beck seemed to regain 
their strength faster than Ray’s uncle, and in 
a short time after their first appearance down- 
stairs they were going about the camp as hale 
and hearty as ever. Vance Carroll, however, 
did not find his strength as rapidly as the 
younger men, and for many a day he went 
hobbling about with the assistance of a cane 
which Captain Eli loaned him. 

As soon as the storm had subsided the camp 
turned its attention to repairing the damage 
that the breakers had done out there on Cobra 
Head. The steel tower of the cableway 
needed repairing, new derricks had to be 
erected, new tool boxes constructed, and . tre- 
mendous quantities of kelp and rockweed 
cleared away before the men could begin their 
building where they had left off before the 
storm. Of course, with these added tasks to 
be accomplished, Jack and Ray found that 
their duties increased in proportion. They, 
too, were very hard at work carrying out little 
details that Mr. Warner entrusted to them. 


THE NEW FULL-BACK 


235 


By the end of the second week following the 
storm, however, things were in excellent shape 
to resume work on the lighthouse structure, 
and after that there came a brief breathing 
spell for Mr. Warner and his two young as- 
sistants. 

This was just what Ray had hoped for. He 
had been waiting all this time to show Mr. 
Warner his precious lifeboat model which he 
had brought through the storm from Mitchell's 
house that day the Fish Hawk struck. Before 
taking part in the rescue he had shoved the 
two-foot tin model between the big blocks of 
granite on the top of the promontory and left 
it there until he found time to get it out and 
look it over. A few days after the storm he 
had brought it to the office shanty, but he had 
made no effort to show it to the engineer until 
he was certain that the man had time enough 
to go into every detail with him. 

The first day that the rush of work let up 
and Ray found Mr. Warner strolling through 
the camp enjoying his early morning pipe, the 
boy asked him if he would not spare a few 
moments in the office with him. 

Jack was already there doing some work that 


236 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


he had left undone the day before, but when 
Ray brought Mr. Warner in, and a few mo- 
ments later unearthed the lifeboat model from 
beneath a dozen rolls of discarded blue prints 
that had been tossed in one corner of the room, 
the lad from Drueryville put his work aside 
and stopped to listen. 

Mr. Warner examined the curious little craft 
from all angles and paid strict attention while 
Ray explained the details of the idea. And 
after he had ceased talking the engineer was 
silent for some time while he scrutinized the 
metal boat more closely. Then finally he put 
the model on the table and exclaimed: 

“By George, Ray, you're a clever chap. I 
believe you have a corking scheme here, too. 
I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll help you get 
patents on it and then I’ll see that it gets into 
the hands of a friend of mine who is in the 
metallic boat building business. I’ve an idea 
he might be able to do something with it.” 

“Say, will you?” cried Ray enthusiastically, 
“Great! Perhaps I’ll be able to go to school 
after all. It — ah — ” 

“Tut, tut, son. Don’t get too excited about 


THE NEW FULL-BACK 


237 


the prospects. Remember, I didn’t say that 
you would get rich. It may not be a success, 
or — oh, a dozen things may happen to spoil the 
possibility of your getting any money out of 
it. Mighty few inventors ever get rich any- 
way. It is even possible that you can’t get a 
patent on it, for some one may have thought of 
the idea long ago. You’ll find when you get 
older that it is not an easy matter to get a de- 
vice through the patent office. Many a man 
has spent a fortune and valuable time on an 
idea only to have it knocked on the head by 
some little detail. 

“There’s the man who invented the periscope 
of the submarine, for instance. He worked 
out the contrivance and tried to have it 
patented only to find, after two years of hard 
work, that the Government would not allow a 
patent on it because some Frenchman, a long 
time before, had written a visionary story in 
which a device, similar to the one he had in- 
vented, had been suggested. The Frenchman 
had never tried to build his instrument, but, 
nevertheless, the Patent Office in Washington 
would not allow a patent on the practical ap- 


238 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


pliance on the ground that it had been exploited 
before, and the inventor died a poor man, when 
he should have been wealthy.” 

“That was hard luck,” said Ray; “but any- 
way, I’m mighty glad to find some one who will 
take enough interest in my work to try and 
help me. I have always — ” 

At this point came a violent thump-thump- 
thumping in the front room of the office, indi- 
cating that some one with a wooden append- 
age was approaching. All three looked up, 
expecting Old Mitchell to come through the 
door. They were not mistaken. The old lob- 
sterman hobbled into the room, a broad grin 
wrinkling his face. But following immedi- 
ately behind him was Ray’s Uncle Vance ! 

For a moment every one was silent! The 
situation was tense, for this was the first time 
that Ray and his kinsman had come face to 
face since the day, months before, when Big 
O’Brien had administered a liberal trouncing 
to the swordfisherman. Ray turned white and 
became very nervous, and Jack, for the mo- 
ment, was breathless. But before either of 
the lads could speak Vance Carroll strode 


THE NEW FULL-BACK 


239 


across the room and held out a big horny hand 
toward his nephew. 

“Ray,” he said in a rough voice, “Mitchell 
here tells me you saved my life. Thank ye, 
lad, thank ye. I don’t know as it was wo’th 
savin’, but thank ye. Also I want to — ah — er 
— apologize fer ah — ” (the gruff voice faltered 
for a moment) — “aw, shucks, I guess I wasn’t 
all that an’ uncle an’ on’y kin should hev been 
to ye, Ray, and I ax yer parding, Ray.” 

“Pshaw, don’t mention it, Uncle Vance,” said 
Ray, tears starting to his eyes. “I guess I 
wasn’t such a very good boy either. I — ” 

“Oh, yes, you were. But I didn’t realize it 
until Mitchell here opened my eyes. We got 
a lot to thank him for, lad. He showed me 
what kind of a boy you are ; he nursed me back 
on my feet again ; and he tells me that he found 
your lifeboat model, too, which I flung over- 
board.” 

“So he did and here it is,” said Ray, holding 
up the metal vessel. 

“I’m mighty glad, Ray, fer I repented 
throwin’ t’ thing away more than once lately,” 
said the swordfisherman. 


240 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 

This made Ray fairly tremble with happi- 
ness, for he had been hoping that his uncle 
would not catch sight of the model for fear it 
would bring back his old animosity. But it 
had quite the opposite effect. Vance Carroll 
picked the metal boat up and examined it. 
Then turning to Mr. Warner he demanded: 

“What do you think of it, Mr. Engi- 
neer ?” 

“Think? Why I think it's bully,” said Mr. 
Warner. 

“And’ that’s what I been thinkin’ too. A 
lifeboat what won’t sink ner turn over could 
be a mighty handy thing. If we’d had one on 
board t’ Fish Hawk instead o’ dories, which we 
was afraid t’ trust, we could have left her 
long before she struck, and perhaps saved all 
o’ t’ crew.” 

“By hookey, that’s right,” said Ray, whose 
eyes were sparkling now. Then he added, 
“This is going to be great, Uncle Vance, and 
Mr. Warner is going to help me patent it, and 
perhaps sell it for me so’s I can earn money 
enough to go to school.” 

“Well, he needn’t if he don’t want to, fer 
I’m goin’ t’ send you to school on my own 


THE NEW FULL-BACK 


241 


money. I’ve got enough fer that, an’ besides 
I guess I owe it to you.” 

“What!” exclaimed the incredulous Ray. 

“Yes, ye can go t’ school’s long es ye want. 
I don’t set much store by schoolin’ usually, but 
IVe been so blasted mean to ye that I figger I 
owe ye t’ right o’ lettin’ ye hev yer own way 
fer a while. Sure, go to school wherever you 
want an’ es long es ye want. I’ll foot t’ bill. 
Guess ye earned enough money fer me t’ make 
accounts square in the end.” 

“Whoop-e-e, hear that, Jack!” cried Ray, 
scarcely able to control his emotions. “I’m to 
go to school anywhere I want and — ” 

“And, of course, you’ll come to Drueryville, 
and be our full-back next year,” added the de- 
lighted Jack. 

“Will I ? Well, you bet your boots I will !” 
shouted Ray, and just because they did not 
know of a better way to express their pleasure, 
the two excited lads shook hands again and 
again. 

And while Jack and Ray were talking, Vance 
Carroll picked up the model lifeboat and, beck- 
oning to Mr. Warner and Old Mitchell, left the 
room for the outer office. There the three re- 


242 JACK STRAW, LIGHTHOUSE BUILDER 


mained for a good two hours, discussing the 
feasibility of organizing a company to build 
metal lifeboats, for each one of the three men 
seemed eager to invest his money in Ray’s in- 
vention. 


THE END 


VAIL- BALLOU CO., BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK 




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